Behind Blue Eyes
by clio21000
Summary: Racetrack knows his senior year of college will be challenging, but he has no idea just who and what he’ll be up against. It all begins when he meets his new roommate, Sean…
1. Behind Blue Eyes, Ch 1

Behind Blue Eyes

By: clio21000

Summary: Racetrack knows his senior year of college will be challenging, but he has no idea just who and what he'll be up against. It all begins when he meets his new roommate, Sean…

Warning: Contains slash. Don't like, don't read.

Disclaimer: Yeah, if I owned them, I would so not be living in an efficiency…

**Prologue**

_No one knows what it's like  
To be the bad man  
To be the sad man  
Behind blue eyes  
_

_No one knows what it's like  
To be hated  
To be fated  
To telling only lies…_

_No one bites back as hard  
On their anger  
None of my pain and woe  
Can show through_

_But my dreams  
They aren't as empty  
As my conscience seems to be  
I have hours, only lonely  
My love is vengeance  
That's never free_

from "Behind Blue Eyes," The Who

**Chapter One**

Sean Conlon threw his duffle bag on the top bunk and surveyed the room. Dorm rooms weren't huge, as a rule, but it felt like the one he was standing in was about half the size of a bathroom stall. A set of bunk beds was crammed along one wall, with two desks and two dressers angled in around it. A second set of beds was against the opposite wall – what the fuck was that for, anyway? He was only supposed to have one roommate – and two closets approximately the size of postage stamps were squeezed in on either side of the door. Sean snorted. It was a shitty layout – you wouldn't be able to see who was coming in your room until they were already halfway in. There was a small sink at the foot of the second set of bunk beds, and windows lined the wall opposite the door. There was also no air conditioning, so the room was about 110 degrees.

He shrugged. It was a dump, but he'd certainly been in worse places. Swiping his longish hair back from his face, he started to unpack.

* * *

Race groaned as he hauled a box of books up the flight of stairs. The damn elevator was out of order – again – and he really regretted having chosen a room on the sixth floor. He'd thought it would be nice to be able to see out over the campus, especially after taking lower level floors for the last three years for Crutchy's sake, but he'd completely forgotten how often the elevator in Hearst Hall broke down.

When Crutchy'd decided not to come back this year, Race had seriously debated getting a single. Crutchy had eventually gotten used to all of Race's odd… habits, but it would be so much easier to live alone and not have to worry about bothering anyone with his erratic ways. But, like the apartments Specs and Dutchy and Blink and Mush lived in, a single was just too expensive.

He was supposed to be getting a new roommate, some guy who was transferring in. He tried to remember where the guy was from – New York? New Jersey? Somewhere on the East Coast. He'd read the bio the Office of Residence Life had sent to him, but when he'd received no response to his e-mail introducing himself, he'd put it out of his mind.

Hopefully the guy wouldn't be an asshole. The guy Skittery'd gotten stuck with their frosh year had been a really jerk, and homophobic to boot. He hadn't been too fond of Skittery's less than conventional friends coming around – and since Skittery was in the theatre department, he had a lot of less than conventional friends.

Race snorted. The guy had been a business major. It figured.

He finally reached the top of the stairs, stopped to catch his breath, then headed down the hall to room 606.

There was already someone in the room when he walked in, but the damn closets made it impossible for him to see the guy until he was halfway in the room. When he could see him, Race blinked. The kid had sloppy dark blonde hair and his eyes, when he leveled them on Race, were very light, almost clear blue. He was taller than Race – but then everyone was – but stick-skinny; he looked younger than the twenty or twenty-one years old he must have been in order to be a senior, as the bio had claimed.

Race dropped his box on the floor. "Hey. I'm Tony Higgins."

The kid nodded. "Sean Conlon."

"So I guess we're roommates, huh?"

The kid – Sean – nodded again.

Race turned to survey the room. He sighed when he saw all four beds. "So beds? Dressers? What do you want where?"

Sean shrugged.

Struggling not to roll his eyes, Race pressed on. "Well, they give us two sets of bunk beds so we can store stuff on the top bunk and sleep on the bottom if we want, or so we can loft our beds over our dressers and desks. The guy I was living with last year, though, he and I just got rid of one of the sets and put a desk there and there – " he pointed to the corners under the window – "one dresser there at the foot of the bed and one in between the two desks. That left enough room along the wall with the sink to just wedge in a futon and stick the minifridge next to it."

Sean shrugged again. "Whatever."

"Right." Race bit back a sigh. It looked like he was in for a long year. "Well, I've got a TV and the futon. And a rug. I'll bring those up, I guess." He tapped his fingers against his hips, surveying the room. "They don't let us have microwaves – they're really strict about that – you're supposed to do all your cooking downstairs in the hall kitchen. We can have coffee pots if we want, but I don't have one. I don't drink the stuff."

Sean smirked. "I think it's too late to be afraid it'll stunt your growth."

Race clenched his jaw, swiveled, and headed out the door without saying a word.

* * *

David had spent the last hour hauling boxes and bags up the stairs into his sister's suite for her and "a few of her friends." He pulled his car into his assigned parking space in his own dorm lot, threw it into park, and stretched his arms; "a few" of Sarah's friends had felt like half the dorm. When his phone buzzed from the console in between the front seats, he glanced down and punched at the enter button to accept Race's text message.

U here yet?

He turned off the car and unbuckled his seatbelt, then picked up the phone.

Just got here. Y?

Me 2. Just met new roomie.

And?

Asshole.

That sucks.

Yeah. U and Jack coming over?

Gotta unpack.

Please! Leave it til 2nite.

U'R that desperate?

YES.

K. We'll rescue U asap.

Thnx.

Shaking his head – poor Race – David climbed out of his car and started pulling out boxes and laundry baskets. A window three stories up opened and a shaggy brunette head stuck out.

"Hey, Davey!"

He looked up and grinned. "Jack!"

"Need help?"

He waved his hands at the belongings clustered around his feet. "You bet."

When Jack bounded out of the front doors of the hall a few minutes later, he grinned again. "You're tan."

"Summertime in Santa Fe, Davey. It'll do that to ya." Jack bent down and slung a duffel bag over his shoulder, then picked up a box. "You're white as a ghost, as usual."

David snorted. "I'm Polish, dumbass. If my skin sees sun for thirty seconds I burn and peel." He picked up a box of books. "As you should remember after that little beach trip we took during Spring Break."

Jack laughed as they began trudging up the stairs with their load. "Now, Davey, you're just upset because you spent the entire week rubbing sunscreen and aloe on yourself and never found a hot chick to do it for you." He winked. "Which I had no problems doing." He dropped the stuff was carrying as they entered their room. The furniture was already in place, arranged just as it had been in their last room, and the room before that, and the room frosh year when they had been assigned to each other. Jack's belonging were put away – it was probably the only time all year Jack would have his clothes in his dresser drawers instead of in a pile on the floor – but his bed was rumpled.

"You get here last night?" David asked, setting the box carefully on his desktop and glancing around.

Jack nodded.

"Looks good," David said. "So, Race texted me right before I got here. He's having trouble with his new roommate, wants us to come up and rescue him."

"'Kay," Jack said, then dug in his pockets as a tinny version of "Friends in Low Places" filled the air. David wrinkled his nose. "I can't believe you're still listening to country."

"I spent the last three months in the Southwest, Davey," Jack said as he glanced at the screen on his cell phone. He flipped the phone open and held it to his ear. "Hey, Blink. Yeah, we're going to go see Race. Sure, we'll come over." He raised his eyebrows at David, who shrugged. "Yeah, we'll be over in a half hour, hour or so. Later." He flipped the phone closed. "Let's get Race and get over to the apartments. It sounds like Blink and Mush have the first party of the year going already, and I think Blink's band is playing."

* * *

Race almost sighed in relief when he heard a knock on the open dorm room door, quickly followed by Jack's voice calling, "Race!" He and his new roommate had spent the last half hour unpacking in total and complete silence. Race felt like a wire drawn so tightly it was going to snap.

Jack and then David's heads poked around the corner of the closets, and he stood to introduce them.

"Hey, Sean," he said. Sean glanced up, looking completely uninterested, from where he was putting some very battered T-shirts in his dresser drawer. "These are my friends, Jack and David. Jack's in computer science, David's an overachiever – he's a double major in English and communications." He turned to Jack and David. "This is my new roommate, Sean."

"Hi," Jack offered, while David gave Sean a friendly smile.

Sean nodded once, then turned back to his T-shirts. Jack and David both looked at Race, eyebrows raised, and he nearly laughed at their identical expressions. For all that he was a pretty tough guy, Jack was also a pretty friendly guy, and Dave – well, Dave was just innocently kind to everyone. Having Sean shoot them down without a word must have been disturbing for both.

"Well, Race," Jack cleared his throat. "We told Mush and Blink we'd head over to their place once we got you. You ready to go?"

Race stood, tucked his keys in his pockets, and hesitated. "I don't know how late I'll be," he said in Sean's direction.

"I ain't gonna wait up," Sean said, not looking up from where he was tucking some exceptionally ragged jeans into a dresser drawer. Piles of clothes and half-empty boxes were pooled around his feet, and though his posture was casual, it was also defensive – hunched shoulders, arms tucked in near his body. He suddenly looked impossibly alone and thin and young. Race bit his lip. "Uh, you, uh…You want to come along, Sean?"

Jack's expression screamed "you've got to be kidding me" so blatantly that David elbowed him. Sean's shoulders squared. "You don't gotta baby-sit me," he said.

Race shot David a pleading look. David cleared his throat. "You should come, Sean," he said. "It'll give you a chance to meet all of our friends. Plus Blink and Mush usually have live music at their parties."

Jack turned his disbelieving face on David.

"I'm sure it'll be the social highlight of the season," said Sean, sarcasm dripping from his voice. But he turned from his dresser and put his keys in his pocket.

Race blinked. Jesus, he was actually going to come along? "Uh, great. Let's go, then."

Jack and David hung back, letting Race and Sean exit before them, but Race could hear Jack hiss, "You crazy? I thought we were coming over here to get Race away from him!" as he waited to lock the door behind them.

Cloth rustled – David must have shrugged. "Race invited him."

"He seems awfully…arrogant," Jack said.

David laughed. "And you didn't when I first met you?"

"Hmph. I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about, Davey." Jack's indignation was clear, but so was his affection for David. When the pair came out into the hallway, they were grinning at each other and Jack's arm was around Dave's shoulders.

Sean raised an eyebrow. "So, are they like – you know?" he asked Race.

Race shook his head. "They're just very touchy feely. Most of our friends are. But look, Sean," his face hardened, "if you have problems with gay people, we might as well just head over to Residence Life and arrange a switch now. A lot of my friends are gay."

But Sean's expression didn't change. "Whatever. Don't make a difference to me."

Downstairs, the foursome piled into Jack's rusty truck. When he started the engine and the radio started playing, David immediately changed the station.

"Hey, that was Kenny Chesney!" Jack protested.

David rolled his eyes. "I heard three words and my ears are bleeding. No, Jack."

"It's my car!"

"No, Jack."

In the back seat, Race smirked and Sean raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

David found a station playing what sounded like Pink Floyd and settled back, sighing.

"You know, for someone as straight-laced as you are, you sure like druggie music an awful lot," Jack said.

"Pink Floyd is genius. One does not need to be high to appreciate that."

"Kenny Chesney's a genius," Jack muttered.

"Kenny Chesney is a Jimmy Buffet-wannabe who actually refers to himself as a hillbilly. The high point of the man's career was when he mentioned a Stones' tape in that one song," David said. He closed his eyes and hummed along with "Us and Them."

Jack frowned and hmphed a little.

"Stop pouting," David said without opening his eyes.

Race cracked up. Sean snorted and looked out the window.

* * *

The party was well underway when the four young men got to Blink and Mush's apartment. The music was loud, easily loud enough to be heard as soon as they stepped off the elevator.

"How do the neighbors never complain?" David wondered as they headed towards the end of the hall and Blink and Mush's apartment.

Tony snorted. "Knowing Blink and Mush, they're all at the party."

"Jack!"

"Hey, Cowboy!"

"Race!"

"Heya, Dave!"

Several voices around the room called out as the boys went through the open door. Sean hung back slightly, checking out the crowd. There were a lot of people packed into a really small apartment, but most of the furniture was pushed back to the walls to make room for dancing. At one end of the room, a live band was playing; David hadn't been exaggerating. A blonde guy with an eyepatch and guitar slung across his chest was currently singing a Doors tune – interesting; they might actually have taste – and doing his best impression of Jim Morrison. Sean rolled his eyes. Behind him was a skinny blonde chick with big tits, an eyebrow piercing, and tattoos on the backs of her hand, playing bass, and a Latina girl playing a violin with an amp cord coming out of the bottom. A drum set crowded in the back was being played by an Asian guy with a really ugly hat.

A curly-headed, friendly-faced guy with latte-colored skin approached them. "Jack! Dave! Race! Who's your friend?"

"Heya, Mush," Tony said. "This is my new roommate, Sean."

Mush stuck out his hand. "Hey, I'm Mush. Welcome to USU."

Sean raised an eyebrow disdainfully, and didn't take Mush's hand. "Mush?"

Mush dropped his hand slowly, looking confused, but answered, "Yeah, it's a nickname. We're kind of big on that – most of our friends have nicknames. Art people, you know?"

Sean snorted.

Mush looked at Tony in confusion, but Tony just shrugged. "Well, okay, anyway, so the keg's in the bathtub, and obviously Blink and Swifty and Gabby and Del have the dancing going already. Just have a good time, and let me know if you need anything." He wandered off towards the band.

"Well, I'm getting a drink. Or five or ten," said Jack, heading for what Sean assumed was the bathroom.

David sighed. "I better go watch him and make sure he doesn't drink himself sick. Again." He trailed after Jack.

Tony stood silently next Sean. "You don't gotta baby-sit me," Sean said again.

Tony shrugged. "Whatever. Come on, I'll introduce you to some of our friends."

"Oh joy."

Gritting his teeth, Tony said, "All right, then, just look and listen. It won't require any polite conversation that may strain you." He pointed to the band. "The one with the eyepatch is Kid Blink. Swifty's on the drums, Del is on bass, and Gabby's on violin. They're all music majors, but Blink's here on a baseball scholarship; he's gunning for a shot at the majors more that a band contract. Blink shares this apartment with Mush, the guy you just met. Mush is a theatre and dance double-major."

He turned and pointed at the guys sitting on the couch shoved under the windows. "Tall mopey-looking guy's Skittery, he's theatre too. Bumlets is next to him – another dance major. He's Gabby-from-the-band's brother. Tall guy with the glass is Specs, history. Really blonde guy straddling on Spec's lap and making out with him is Dutchy, film."

Now he turned towards the bathroom door, where Jack and David were coming out, a brown-haired girl wrapped around Jack. A tiny redheaded girl with tiny, fine braids and sparkly white streaks in her hair trailed in their wake. "The girl hanging all over Jack is Sarah, Dave's sister. They date on again, off again. The girl behind them is Teensy. I think they're both in visual arts of some sort, I don't know. Gabby, Del, Teensy, and Sarah have a suite together in Halverson, the girl's dorm hall."

He paused, looking around the crowded room. "Those are the main guys we hang out with. The other people here…" he shrugged.

"Whatever," Sean said.

"Fine," Tony said. He pointed toward the kitchen. "Food." He pointed toward the bathroom. "Booze. We'll find you when it's time to go home. And now I'm going to go play poker with some nice drunk people and win all their money." He strode off, and soon was gathering circle of players in the corner. Sean tried half-heartedly to remember their names. Tiny? Spiffy? Bum-something or other. And Comet, Cupid, Sneezy, and Doc.

He watched from his position leaning against the wall by the door as Jack and the chick who'd wrapped herself around him – David's sister? – started sucking face, then headed for what he assumed was a bedroom. David stared after them with a look of disgust on his face, then headed over to chat with the group on the couch. The little redheaded midget followed him and immediately started talking to the one with the glasses and the really blonde one, who'd stopped making out and were now cuddling.

He watched as Tony, a cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth, proceeded to clean out everyone he was playing with. Over on the other side of the room, the band took a break, and the violinist wandered over to where the poker game was going on. One of the players was her brother, Sean remembered. He could see the resemblance; they were both clean, earnest-looking Latinos with lots of thick, glossy black hair. Mush bounded over towards the eyepatch guy – Blink? – but immediately turned and headed in the other direction when Blink started fighting with the bassist, shouting at her with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth; he'd lit up as soon as the band had stopped.

Sean's fingers twitched. He could use one. He glanced around the room. A few other people were smoking, including Jack, who had just exited the bedroom with a satisfied grin on his face and a very rumpled looking girl in tow.

Mush moaned from across the room. "Oh, God, Jack. Tell me you didn't have sex on my bed again."

Jack shook his head, blew out a stream of smoke. "Nope. We had sex on Blink's bed this time."

"What?" Blink shouted at the same time David groaned, "Ew, Jack, that's my sister."

Sean lit a cigarette.

* * *

Around eleven, Race stood up, pulling his winnings toward him. It was a nice little pile of bills and coins, and Bumlets, Teensy, and Skittery groaned as he pocketed them and his cards. He felt bad for them momentarily, but… you shouldn't get involved in betting if you weren't sober or if you couldn't afford to lose.

"Not going to hang around and let us try to win any of that back, huh?" Teensy said.

He bit on the end of his cigar and grinned at her. "Nope." He looked around the room. The band had stopped playing an hour or two ago, and had been replaced by Mush's stereo and Blink's endless supply of CDs. Some of the crowd had thinned out; Sarah, Gabby, Swifty, and Del were nowhere to be seen, along with a good chunk of the people he hadn't really known. Race had looked up from his cards at some point in the last hour and seen Dutchy dragging Specs towards the door – not that Specs looked at all unhappy to go – with an unmistakable look of lust on his face and his shirt already half off. Their apartment was just down the hall, and it was a good thing, too; neither looked like he was willing to wait too long.

Blink and Mush were sitting side-by-side on the couch, leaning against each other companionably and talking in low voices. Sean was still slouched against the wall where he'd been since they'd got there. As far as Race knew, he'd neither eaten nor drunk anything, but he'd sucked down about half a pack of cigarettes. Jack and David – where were Jack and David? Race looked around. Well, it was a three-room apartment – four if you counted the bathroom – there weren't that many places they could be. Sure enough, when he poked his head in the bathroom, there they were. David was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, holding Jack's messy hair back out of his face as Jack retched into the toilet. David's eyes met Race's above Jack's heaving back, and he just shook his head, looking both irritated and resigned. There was no trace of either emotion in his voice when spoke softly to Jack, though.

"How're you doing, Jack?"

Jack moaned.

"Do you think you can handle the ride home?"

Jack mumbled something unintelligible into the toilet bowl. David stood. "All right, I'm going to get you some water, and then we're going to try to make it home, okay?"

Jack nodded weakly. David grabbed a plastic cup from the stack next to the keg and filled it at the bathroom tap, then handed it to Jack, crouching down and steadying Jack's hand as he drank.

"All right?" he asked, watching Jack's face.

"Yeah." They stood, Jack a little shakily, and started out of the bathroom, David's hand under Jack's elbow the whole way.

Race shook his head in amazement as he followed the pair out into the living room. This happened at most of the parties they went to: Jack got trashed, David didn't drink. And it wasn't that he kept it to one or two casual drinks, like Race tended to – he stayed absolutely stone-cold sober. Race had never seen him touch a drop of alcohol.

Jack, on the other hand, loved his booze. He went through alcohol with the same careless abandon he used with cigarettes and sex.

David clearly didn't approve of Jack's casual attitudes towards alcohol. Race knew that he also hated smoking, and couldn't imagine that he approved of Jack's fast and loose ways with women, particularly since one of Jack's most frequent partners was his sister. And yet, Jack was his best friend. David came to every party with him, appeared to mingle with their friends and have a good time, and was always there to take care of Jack if he got sick or so drunk he couldn't find his way home.

Race waved good-bye to Blink and Mush, then jerked his head at Sean. "C'mon. We're leaving. That is, if you think the wall can manage to stay up on its own without you to hold it up."

Sean raised an eyebrow, his opinion – "Oh, we all know I don't have to listen to you, but I'll do what you said just this once to humor you, little man" – as clearly expressed as if he had spoken it out loud, and fell into step behind them.

Sean trailed behind them without a word as Race helped David half-lead, half-carry Jack down the stairs. Race looped his arms under Jack's and held him as David pawed through his pockets for the keys in the parking lot, and then helped tuck him into the cab of the truck. David drove back to their dorm in silence. Once they'd parked, Race helped get the half-conscious Jack out of the truck, drag him up the stairs – damn the elevator again for not working – and dump him on the lower bunk in Jack and David's room.

"Thank God he's got the bottom bunk," Race said, panting a little. "We'd never get him up on the top."

David looked up and lifted and eyebrow ironically before going back to untying Jack's shoes. "And why do you think I made him take the bottom bunk?"

Race chuckled. "You're a smart guy, Dave. You need anything else?"

David tossed Jack's shoes in the general direction of the closet. "Nope, I know the drill. Thanks, Race."

"Yeah. Night, Dave." Race headed towards the door, where Sean was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You ready?"

"Nah, I want to stay and kiss Jack goodnight, too," Sean drawled.

Race just sighed. It was going to be a _very _long year. "Let's go."

* * *

David shut and locked the door behind Sean and Race and stretched until he heard his shoulders pop. Jack was not a lightweight guy, and he was still a little sore from all the hauling he'd done for Sarah that morning. He sighed and headed back towards the bed where his roommate was laid out, already sound asleep.

The first thing he did was turn Jack on his stomach so that if he started puking in his sleep he wouldn't drown in his own vomit. It disgusted him that he had to be the one to think of these details, that Jack wanted to get so completely wasted that he needed someone else to make sure he didn't pull a Jimi Hendrix overnight.

But his disgust didn't stop him from tucking a blanket around Jack gently, or from digging a bottle of water out of the minifridge and setting it on the edge of the desk next to Jack's alarm clock. He even dug around in Jack's toiletries – ignoring the obscene number of condoms – until he found the aspirin, and shook four out onto the desk next to the water. If past experience was anything to go on, Jack would have a mammoth hangover in the morning. Smiling a little, David pulled Jack's sunglasses out of his jacket pocket and stuck those on the desk beside the water and aspirin as well. Then, satisfied that his roommate was taken care of, he began to get himself ready for bed.

**

* * *

AN: This is the first chapter in what's going to end up being part one of a two- or three-piece series in the same universe. I'm pretty far along in the story, so look for quick updates. Also, I'm pretty excited about this fic, and if anyone else is excited too, I could use a beta or two, since my usual betas belong to a different fandom.… If not, I won't hold it against you. ;) Thanks for reading.**

Hopefully soon to be crossposted at The Refuge, the coolest Newsies slash site out there.

- clio21000


	2. Behind Blue Eyes, Ch 2

**Chapter Two**

The alarm went off way too early the next morning – but then it always seemed to. Race opened his eyes a slit, then groaned and scrunched them shut again. He hadn't had all that much to drink at the party the night before, but he also hadn't slept much; the few beers he'd had and the lack of sleep had combined to create the mother of all headaches that was now playing a steel drum band on his temples.

One step at a time, he told himself. Slowly, slowly, he sat up. Once his brain had stopped rattling around in his skull and settled back into its place, he tried to open his eyes again. The lids felt glued shut, sticky and gritty. When he managed to force them apart, bright pinpoints of white light danced in across his field of vision and sent him fumbling on his desktop for his sunglasses.

A quick shower and a good ten minutes of tooth-brushing made him feel almost alive again. Back in his room, he picked a white dress shirt that was hanging half-on, half-off a hanger in the closet and tugged it on. A pair of black pants was next, and he took a moment to be grateful that it was his first day of work for the semester and his pants were therefore clean. He'd spent a lot of mornings hurriedly scraping food from the previous day's shift off his pants before he pulled them on.

His headache had abated somewhat by the time he opened the diner's back door, yawning. Inside, the kitchen was already bustling. Lucy and Susan, the two old twin ladies who did all the cooking, were standing at the huge, butcher block table that dominated the kitchen, each mixing something frantically in her own bowl with a worn wooden spoon. Morris was standing at the sink, scrubbing dutifully and staring at the splashes and stains on the otherwise blank white wall in front of him. Lucy and Susan replied cheerfully when Race mumbled, "G'morning." Morris didn't respond.

Weasel strode into the kitchen as Race was tying on his apron. "You're late," he said.

Race glanced at the clock. It was 6:06. "Yup," he agreed. Weasel was higher up in the management chain than he was, but thankfully not his direct boss; he was in charge of the busboys and dishwashers. His boss – he glanced around – was either hiding or even later than he had been.

She cruised in almost ten minutes later, still whipping her hair into a ponytail.

"Morning, Del," he called from where he was standing at the counter, rolling silverware up in napkins.

Weasel looked up at the sound of her name. "You're late! Fifteen – sixteen minutes late!"

"Fuck off," she answered. She strode over to where Race was working.

"What's up, boss lady?"

She groaned. "I had way too much to drink at that party last night."

He winced in sympathy, taking in her pallor and bloodshot eyes. "Yeah, I'm not feeling so hot myself."

Rubbing her eyes, she sighed. "Have you looked at the schedule? Is it just you and I this morning, or is someone else in?"

"Just us until 8:00."

"All right," she said. "I'm going to go take some coffee intravenously, then we'll start setting." She headed for the coffee station.

Race continued stacking silverware rolls, keeping count of how many he'd made in the back of his mind. Nearly all of his friends worked, even the few who came from families with some money – private school tuition was pretty intimidating – but most had opted for the less demanding schedules of on-campus jobs. Only he and Del and Jack had off-campus jobs, he and Del at Tibby's, the little diner a few miles from campus, Jack tending bar a few nights a week. Working as a waiter on the morning shift wasn't a dream job, but he made a lot more money than he ever would have at a campus job. He snorted. He wasn't sure how education officials thought students could survive on minimum wage. So he and Del ragged on Weasel and complained to each other about their schedules and their aching feet and smelly clothes, and while Del was technically his boss, she never treated him like it, so it all worked out all right.

* * *

Tony wasn't in the room when Sean rolled out of bed. He'd heard him get up that morning, of course, but hadn't bothered to ask where he was going at 5:30 a.m. He was alone in their room now; it would be a perfect time to set up his computer. It took a few minutes of crawling around under his desk and playing with all the different cords and wires, but soon the machine was humming away on his desktop. He enabled the wireless Internet connection and rubbed his palms together. The party last night had left him itchy for information. It was time to do a little digging.

Sean prided himself on knowing as much as possible about everyone he interacted with. You never knew what kind of information would come in handy when you were dealing with people. Would he really need to know the dirty secrets of all Tony's friends at some point? Probably not, but it never hurt to be prepared. He could find just about anything he wanted on the Internet, and if he couldn't find something himself, he had contacts, Internet friends, little birdies who filled him in and kept him informed.

A simple criminal background search would be first. It was easiest – and actually legal. He filled in the search box in the court system database: _Higgins, Anthony_. His adult record was clear, but Sean hadn't expected his roommate to be a hardened criminal. He had a sharp tongue, but clearly tried to be a nice guy. He had invited Sean to the party the day before, after all, though Sean expected he had regretted it when Sean hadn't bothered to try to interact with anyone. He wondered idly if Tony's friends would give him shit for it, then shrugged. Whatever.

He searched for David next, unsurprised to find his record spotless as well. The guy came off like a freaking Boy Scout. Jack was next, then Mush and Blink. He started to search for their records and stopped, realizing he didn't know their real names. Grinning slightly, he began to poke around on the restricted areas of the school server, looking for housing records – he knew Blink and Mush's address; he'd go from there.

He found Blink and Mush's real names by working backwards from their addresses, then, remembering that Specs and Dutchy were just down the hall in the same apartment building, did the same for them. The girls were easier – he knew Sarah Jacobs's whole name, and just looked up her suitemates' names in the housing database. And once he had Gabby's full name, he found Bumlets's easily enough since they shared a last name.

That left only Skittery. Sean tapped the side of the keyboard idly, thinking. He wasn't sure where Skittery lived, and as far as Sean knew, he wasn't related to any of the other students he'd just looked up. Finally, he just typed _Skittery_ into the search box. He blinked in surprise as a record came up – it was almost too easy. It seemed that Skittery's nickname was Skittery, because, in fact, it was his last name.

David, Mush, Blink, Specs, Dutchy, Bumlets, Teensy, Del, and Gabby's records were all clean, outside of the average speeding and parking tickets. Sarah'd gotten a wrist slap and community service for shoplifting when she was eighteen, and Skittery'd gotten similar punishments plus a fine for first-offense marijuana possession around the same time. Jack had a more colorful record than anyone else – quite a few speeding tickets, two underage drinking tickets, and a drunk and disorderly fine – but still nothing terribly shocking.

Sean grinned. That meant it was time to break into the sealed juvenile files.

After two and a half hours of serious hacking into court records, police files, and child services records – far more difficult than the flimsy security the school's server boasted – Sean leaned back and whistled, then, with an ear tuned into the door in case Tony returned, reread the Word document he'd been compiling all his findings in. The crowd Tony hung around with had had some pretty colorful childhoods. None were as bad as his, but a few came close.

David and Sarah seemed the most normal of the bunch. Their parents were still married and living in New York. The only interesting item Sean discovered was that David was a year younger than Sarah, but was in the same year as her at school – he'd skipped fifth grade. Bumlets and Gabby were both clean as well. Their parents were dead, apparently killed by a drunk driver, but the records showed that they had been raised by their maternal grandparents, both of whom were still alive and healthy and living in New Mexico. Specs and Teensy's files were equally disinteresting, and all that was on Skittery's records were some more counts of marijuana possession.

But that was where the records started to get interesting. Kris Johnson – Dutchy – had been adopted as a toddler and brought over from Germany, and had spent most of his seventeenth year out of school, recovering from a nervous breakdown and several ulcers. Nicholas Meyers, a.k.a. Mush, had lost his parents to a house fire when he was nine, and he'd spent the rest of his childhood in various orphanages. Sean wrinkled his brow a little – Mush was an attractive baby-faced guy; he must have been an adorable kid. He obviously had a good temperament. Sean couldn't imagine why he wouldn't have been adopted.

Del and Blink's records came the closest to Sean's personal history of any of them, and Sean winced away from some of the details in the files. And Tony – friendly little Tony – had been arrested at age sixteen for underage gambling. Sean tsked. Based on his performance at the party last night, it was clearly a habit that he'd never broken.

Finally, there was _Kelly, Jack_. Sean frowned. He'd been able to find Jack's adult records with no problems, but try as he might, he couldn't find his juvenile records. There were plenty of Jack Kellys out there – it was a relatively common name – but no one fit the birthplace and age listed in his adult records. He tried John Kelly and all its variations as well, but with no luck. It was like Jack Kelly hadn't existed before his eighteenth birthday.

Interesting. Very interesting. He assigned the Word document a password and closed it, then opened his one of his free e-mail accounts.

To: info request

Jax & Belcher,

Having trouble getting into the childhood files of Jack Kelly, dob 3/27/84, birthplace Manhattan, NY. Adult files exist (https/criminalcourts.gov/records/3271984kellyj), but juv records are nonexistent. $100 each to search; further salary negotiable based on success.

Spot

Sean tapped the send button, then leaned back in his chair. Jax and Belcher were two of his best contacts from back home. He didn't know their real names, and they knew him only as "Spot" – using your real name was nothing short of stupid when you were paying or being paid to hack into sealed government files – but he trusted them to dig up anything he may have missed.

* * *

Classes began the next day; few things had ever seemed so silly to Race as USU's tradition of starting classes on the Thursday before Labor Day instead of just waiting until the Tuesday after. Race wasn't working that morning, so he brought Sean with him to breakfast in the Large Dining Room. He couldn't quite swallow leaving the guy to fend for himself the first week on campus, but, on the other hand, he had long since stopped trying to make casual conversation. Any polite questions about Sean's family or home or classes or even inane comments about the weather were either ignored or answered with a "whatever."

Race was getting very tired of that word.

So the pair walked over to the LDR silently, went though the line and picked out their meals silently, paid silently, and made their way silently to the table where Dutchy, Specs, Skittery, Blink, Bumlets, Gabby and Del sat, picking their way through watery scrambled eggs and limp toast.

"Morning," Race said, and couldn't believe how good it felt to have a half a dozen voices answer him, even if it was with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

"Dutch, babe, I'm trying to read the paper," Specs protested from one end of the table as Race sat down. Dutchy was settled in Specs's lap, clearly more interested in nibbling at his boyfriend's neck than his breakfast. Specs, meanwhile, was trying to see past Dutchy's body to the school paper open in front of him.

"Anything good in there?" Race asked idly, poking at the fruit cup that had come with his breakfast. David was the editor-in-chief this year, and he'd been stressing about getting the first edition out before he'd even gotten back on campus. Race supposed that as a friend he should show at least cursory interest in the newspaper.

"Actually, it's not bad," Specs said, sounding vaguely surprised. The quality of the campus newspaper wasn't exactly renowned.

"Trust Dave to whip things into shape," Blink said.

"He got a really interesting interview with Pulitzer," Specs said.

"With Pulitzer?" Race echoed, impressed. David hadn't said anything about that; it was quite a feat. Their school president was notoriously closed-mouthed.

Specs's face was troubled. "Pulitzer talked about some upcoming budget cuts," he said.

"Oh?" Blink said. He was arranging the leftover bits of sausage and fruit on his tray into what was either the Chicago Cubs logo or a lopsided bullseye; clearly he'd already lost interest. Budget cuts weren't exactly gripping material.

Specs was frowning, though. "He's talking about combining some of the departments, maybe cutting some of the staff."

Duchy's mouth had moved from Specs's neck to his ear. "But it hasn't happened yet, right?" His voice was slightly muffled.

Specs shook his head, narrowly avoiding hitting Dutchy's nose with the side of his face.

"It's probably just talk," Race said, pushing his largely untouched tray away and draining his glass of orange juice instead. "What are we doing this weekend?"

Everyone shrugged.

"I was planning on chilling out," Skittery said in his low monotone. "This first week back's totally stressing me out, man."

Translation: Skittery was going to get stoned out of his mind, Race thought. Well, he would steer clear of the house where Skittery lived with Bumlets and Swifty, and a bunch of other guys he barely knew – Itey, Snoddy, Snitch, Pie Eater, Jake. He had no desire to get into that scene – one vice was enough.

"It's only the first day of classes and you're already cranky," Specs teased.

"Yeah, you've been in a bad mood all week," Blink said.

"I have not!" Skittery protested.

"Sure you have," Race said. "Glum and dumb." He flicked the brim of Skittery's baseball hat back and knocked it off his head.

At the far end of the table Bumlets and Gabby were having a quiet conversation in rapid Spanish. Bumlets obviously hadn't heard his housemate; Race would have to remember to offer him a place to crash if he needed it that weekend. Bumlets stayed clean, didn't like anything in his system that could screw up his dancing, and hadn't liked hanging around the house last year during his housemates' marathon smoking up sessions. He'd slept on Race and Crutchy's floor more than once.

Of course, Crutchy wasn't there now and Race had Sean to deal with – but damned if he'd let a skinny, cranky little twig keep him from helping his friends out.

"I was thinking we could get a poker game going, maybe Friday," Race suggested.

There were groans around the table. "Race, I haven't even gotten my first paycheck from the diner yet," Del complained. "I don't have anything to lose to you yet."

Blink smirked. "Well, maybe if you learned how to actually bluff…"

Del rolled her eyes. "Like you're any better," she huffed. "I can read you like a book when you're bluffing."

"And yet, you still seem to always lose," Blink said, tapping a finger on his chin and pretending to be puzzled.

"Fuck you!"

"Well, fuck you, too!"

The rest of the students went on eating or reading or making conversation around the pair fighting in the middle of their table. "So, Race, have you heard from Crutchy at all?" Gabby asked in her low, soft voice.

"Why are you always starting fights with me?"

"Because you're a bitch!"

"Not recently," Race said. "I visited him once in July." He shrugged. "He seemed to be doing okay then."

"Bastard!"

"Ooh, that kills me, Del. Really, it just hurts so much."

Gabby nodded. She and Bumlets picked up their trays and few minutes later and headed out the door. Skittery trailed after them, and Blink and Del, still fighting at the top of their lungs, soon followed. Specs, after much work, disentangled Dutchy from his lap, and the two left shortly thereafter, Dutchy whispering something about whipped cream. Race closed his eyes briefly and tried to pretend he'd only overheard their grocery list.

"So what is it with your friends and nicknames?" Sean asked.

Race blinked. Sean hadn't said a word the whole meal – honestly, he'd almost forgotten his roommate was sitting beside him.

"Uh, they're mostly theatre and arts people," Race finally said, shrugging. "They're a little weird, have this tendency to nickname everyone. And it's not like everyone has one – I mean, David, and Sarah, Gabby, and Del – those are their real names."

"And the rest of them?"

"God, I don't even know where some of them came from," Race said. "I mean, we call Jack Cowboy because he works summers at a ranch in Santa Fe. Dutchy's Dutchy because he's German – I think it started out as Duetschy – and Blink, it's cause of his eye, obviously, just like Specs is Specs cause of his glasses."

"Creative."

"Hey, you asked. If you couldn't figure it our on your own… Skittery's real name is Henry Skittery – we just call him by his last name. Swifty's a runner – I'll get dragged to track meets all spring to cheer him on – and Teensy, obviously, is teensy. Mush, Bumlets…" He shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"And Racetrack?"

"You mean where's it from?" At Sean's nod, he replied, "I gamble now and then, what do you think?" He stood. "Look, I've got a 10:00 class. I gotta get going. You know at least a dozen people on this campus now, so if you get lost, you should be able to find someone to help you, all right?" He grinned. "Even if you can't find one of my friends, I'm sure you can charm directions out of some lucky girl with that winning personality of yours."

"Watch it, shorty," Sean said warningly.

Race rolled his eyes. "What are you going to do, glare me to death?" He grabbed his backpack. "I'll see you later."

* * *

There was laughter and the Indiana Jones theme music coming from the lounge when Sean let himself into the dorm around 9:00, after his night class was over. He recognized Tony's voice, and Jack's, and what he thought was probably David's, and stood in the middle of the lobby for a few minutes, listening.

"God, I have Livingston _again_ this semester. He had us buy nine texts. Nine!"

"I swear to you, Timmy's gay," another voice said.

"No way," a girl answered.

"I'm serious."

"He's not gay! He was totally hitting on me in that lab class we had together last year."

"Ugh, I have an 8:00 a.m. lab. Do you know how often I'm going to sleep through the alarm for that?"

"Teens, I'm sorry, but he's gay. Mush, isn't Timmy Baker gay?

"Um, yes," said a voice that must have been Mush's. "The guy spent about three hours with his tongue down my throat at the cast party after _West Side Story_ last year."

Groans erupted from the room.

"Ew!"

"Oh, sick."

"Mush, you made out with Timmy Baker? What's wrong with you?"

"Well, it could have been worse," Mush said. "He offered to blow me, but I turned him down."

Silence, then more groans, these even louder.

"At least you turned him down," muttered the first voice Sean had heard. He suspected it was Blink.

"Maybe he's bi?" suggested the female voice. Who had Blink said it was – Teensy?

There was a considering pause.

"I guess."

"It could be."

"Well, you ask him out, Teens, and then we'll see," said Mush. "Meanwhile, if he tries to get in my pants again, I'll point him your way." There was laughter, followed by some shuffling and then footsteps. Sean hurriedly moved away from the doorway of the lounge and headed for the stairs.

"Hey," called Mush's voice at his back. "Race's roommate – Sean, right?"

Sean turned to look over his shoulder at Mush and nodded, his face carefully expressionless.

"You should come on in, hang out with us," Mush said. His face was open and friendly. "Gabby's making us s'mores in the kitchenette."

"S'mores?" Sean asked, disbelievingly; it was just too Brady Bunch for words. But he kept his usual sneer off his face. There was just something about Mush that was too sweet and earnest to crush outright – when he'd looked at Sean with his big hurt eyes the night before, Sean had almost felt bad for a second.

"Sure," Mush said, taking his arm and pulling him back towards the lounge door. "I'm just going to use the bathroom, but you go right in and sit down." He gave a little shove, and Sean found himself standing awkwardly alone in the doorway. Conversation died as everyone looked up. The only noise that filled the room was the low hum of the soundtrack from the movie playing on the TV in the corner.

"Mush said I should come in," Sean said, hating himself for the moment of uncharacteristic awkwardness. He did his best to mask his uncertainty with disinterest.

But the faces watching him were curious, not suspicious, and Tony nodded. "Sure. Sit." He pointed at an open space on one of the couches.

Sean settled himself uncomfortably between the Asian guy and the girl with the tattooed hands – the drummer and bassist from Blink's band, he remembered. Swifty and Del. He called up his mental notes about Tony's friends; Del's father had been convicted on three counts of sexual abuse of a minor and was currently spending the rest of his life in jail. The files Sean had examined online the day before didn't specify which minors he had abused, but based on the fact that Del and her sisters had been taken from their mother and made wards of the state at fourteen, Sean suspected it had been at least one of them.

And Swifty – Sean blinked. He'd completely forgotten about the unobtrusive drummer when he'd done his research the day before.

Well, that was interesting… and unusual.

Tony was seated opposite them, sprawled with his feet up so that he took up two spots on the other couch. He was wearing a tight black T-shirt, and Sean noted that he may have been short, but he looked pretty toned. David was at the end, scrunched in between Tony's feet and the arm of the couch where Jack was perched. Specs and Dutchy were curled together in an armchair, Dutchy occupying his usual spot on Specs's lap. Bumlets, Blink, and Teensy – whose hair was dead white today – lounged in the various piles of cushions and beanbag chairs that filled the corners of the room.

The room stayed quiet for a minute, everyone either watching Sean or pointedly looking elsewhere, but then Gabby came into the room from the kitchenette at the other end with a cookie sheet full of oozy s'mores, and soon everyone was too busy grabbing the treats and stuffing themselves to stare at Sean.

"Hey," Tony suddenly piped up, "I'll take bets. Five bucks on whether Timmy Baker's gay or bi. Any takers?"

"I'm in," said Teensy. "I think he's bi."

Several people in the room objected, and the conversation descended into an argument over whether or not Teensy could, in effect, bet on herself, since whether Timmy was gay or bi was something she would be determining.

Sean was half-watching Indiana Jones slide down a rope into the underground chamber full of asps when Del turned to him. "So. Who the fuck are you?"

Across the room, Blink groaned. "Nice, Del."

"Shut the hell up," she responded without looking at him. She raised an eyebrow at Sean.

"Sean," he supplied, then raised his eyebrow right back at her. "And who the fuck are you?"

"Deliah," she said. "Del."

She looked like she was going to say something else, but then Mush strode into the room and sighed when he saw the empty cookie sheet balancing on the coffee table. "You didn't save any for me?"

"I haven't eaten most of mine," Del said. "You can share with me if you want."

Mush grinned. "Thanks, Del." He settled on the floor by her feet, and she smiled. But, Sean noted, both Blink and Swifty frowned. Interesting. He didn't quite have a grasp on the relationships between the people in the room yet – other than Specs and Dutchy, whose relationship would be impossible to miss even if you were blind and deaf. He wondered what kind of twisted love rectangle was going on among the friends.

He watched idly as Dutchy fed pieces of s'more to Specs, then kissed the marshmallow goo off the corners of his lips. Elbowing Swifty, he nodded towards the pair. "Those two ever stop macking?"

Swifty grinned. "Nope."

From his other side, Del snorted. "It's kinda gross. They swear they're in love."

"They swear it?" Sean repeated. "They actually stop sucking face long enough to talk sometimes?"

She grinned at him. "I like you. You're snotty. The only other person here who appreciates my snottiness is Race."

"She's lying," Tony said. "She just loves me for my body."

"Who doesn't?" David asked, and everyone stared at him. "What?" he said. "I'm not allowed to make jokes with sexual innuendo like everyone else?"

"Uh, no," said Tony. David rolled his eyes, but Jack dropped a comforting hand on his shoulder and he didn't argue.

"Let's order some pizza," Blink said off-handedly. "I'm starving."

"Where's Sarah tonight?" Mush asked, and David and Jack gave identical shrugs.

"She doesn't report in to me," said Jack.

"And she certainly doesn't report in to me," David said, adding, "thank God."

"Doesn't that bother you?" Teensy asked. "I mean you, Jack, not Dave. She's your girlfriend."

He shrugged again. "We're not exclusive, and we don't get all worked up about stuff like that. If we're together, we're together, if we're not, whatever."

"I just hope Sarah thinks about it that way," Teensy muttered.

"She does," Gabby said softly. "So if it works for them, leave it, okay, Teens?"

Teensy nodded and stopped talking, and Sean looked at Gabby, evaluating. It was one of the first times he'd heard her speak – other than her quiet conversations in Spanish with her brother – and he was cautiously impressed by the respect she obviously received from her friends. He too knew the power of holding his tongue and waiting; people listened to you more if you weren't always babbling.

Besides, his parents had taught him the importance of keeping his mouth shut at an early age.

Indy was running from the explosion on the airstrip on the screen. On the floor near his legs, Mush was humming something loudly. Sean didn't recognize the tune, but across the room, Blink groaned. "Mush, no more Andrew Lloyd Webber, okay? Please?"

Mush paused, then stuck his tongue out at Blink and began humming something else. Still loudly.

"What's that?" Blink said, looking around the room.

"It's _Hair_," Bumlets supplied. " 'Good Morning, Starshine.' It's not Andrew Lloyd Webber."

Blink just sighed. "I liked _Hair_," Swifty offered.

"You just liked the part where they tripped out," Del scoffed.

"Not as much as Skittery did," Bumlets muttered.

"No," Swifty protested. "I liked it all. It was a great ending; like half the people in the theatre were crying."

Teensy scrunched her brow. "Crying? Why?"

"Um, because he dies," Swifty said.

"No way! He died? Is that what was going on?" She giggled. "Wow, that ending was completely over my head."

Del and Swifty exchanged quick glances. "What did you think happened?" Swifty asked.

Teensy shrugged. "I don't know. He went off to fight in the war, I guess."

Del was staring at Teensy. "Yeah. He goes off to fight in the war and _he dies_."

"I really could go for some pizza," Blink said again. "With lots of cheese and pepperoni…"

From the chair where Specs and Dutchy sat came a loud moan, and the other students in the room turned to look. Most winced instinctively away when they saw that Dutchy had worked his hands up Specs's shirt.

"Jesus, get a room, you two," Jack said, lobbing a throw pillow at them.

"Yeah, really," said Tony, throwing his own pillow towards them. "You've got this great thing called your apartment. It's got locks on the doors and blinds on the windows – "

"And walls," Del interjected.

Tony nodded. "Right. So, why don't you take advantage of it?"

"I really want pizza," Blink repeated.

"Oh, for the love of God," Mush said, climbing to his feet. "Come on. Let's go and we'll stop and get you a pizza on the way home." Muttering something about cravings, he shoved his feet into his sneakers, which had been lying discarded under the table.

"Cravings?" Sean echoed. "What is he, like PMSing?"

"Hey!"

Del and Tony chuckled and Mush rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and _I'm_ the one who likes boys." He gave a long-suffering sigh. "No, he just always gets this way after a game. Hungry, thirsty, wants all kinds of junk food, would eat anything if I didn't watch him…" His voice trailed off as he headed out of the lounge, Blink following him.

Sean stared after them, then turned back to the young men sitting on the couch across from him. "Jesus Christ, what are they, married?"

Tony laughed, Jack shrugged, and David leaned forward earnestly. "Nope, they're not gay. Well, they are – I mean, at least Mush is – but not together, you know?"

"Uh, no." Sean looked at Jack.

"Blink's straight, Mush is bi, they're not together," Jack said simply.

"That's what I said." David scowled.

Jack squeezed the shoulder than his hand was still resting on. "Sometimes you just talk too much like an English major, Davey. Too many parentheses and commas and semicolons."

Tony snorted, but then a long sucking sound coming from Specs and Dutchy's armchair interrupted whatever retort David had. Jack stood. "All right, the Specs-Dutchy porno hour is over." He picked up one of the throw pillows from where it had fallen when he'd thrown it and whopped Dutchy over the head with it. "Break it up, fellas. Go home and do it."

Swifty stood. "Actually, I should get home too. I've got some reading to finish. You ready, Bumlets?"

"Oh, come on," Tony said. "It's not that late. It's the first day of classes and it's only – " he glanced at his wrist " – ten-thirty."

The girls stood as well. "Sorry, Race," said Teensy. "I have a Friday morning class this semester."

"Same time, same channel, next week, though," Del said.

Sean watched Tony. He looked suddenly small and lonely on the couch by himself; David had stood to join Jack.

"Sure," he said, sounding disappointed.

Sean waited until everyone else had exited the room, then stood. He raised an eyebrow at Tony.

Tony sighed and stood. "I suppose we can be silent together just as well in the room as we can down here." He flipped off the TV.

They took the elevator, miraculously working that day, up to their floor. The overhead lighting was harsh, and it made dark circles stand out under Tony's eyes. Feeling a strange surge of inexplicable pity for him, Sean offered, "Your friends are – interesting."

Tony stared at him, then nodded. "Yeah."

"It was…" Sean tried.

"If you say fun, I'm not going to believe you," Tony said wryly.

"Interesting," Sean concluded.

Tony nodded again. "They're certainly interesting people." He hesitated. "We do that every Thursday night. Same time and place. You, uh, you're welcome to join us. If you want."

Sean shrugged. "Maybe. For the free food, you know."

"Right." Tony paused, then smirked at him. "Did we just have an actual conversation?"

Sean straightened his shoulders as the elevator doors slid open at their floor. "Don't get used to it," he said, heading for their room.

* * *

Sean opened his eyes slowly, trying to figure out what had woken him. He was a light sleeper – you had to be, when you lived in some of the places with the people he'd lived with – but it was still dark outside. The glowing red numerals on his clock told him it was almost 4:00 a.m. Maybe the heat had woken him – it felt like it was about 90 degrees in the stuffy dorm room. He pulled the damp sheets away from his body, then rolled on his side and looked out over the edge of his bunk.

The room was lit with a pale blue glow, and he realized that it was coming from the open screen on Tony's laptop. And Tony was sitting up in front of it, dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, playing what looked like solitaire and sipping out of a mug with a tea bag string hanging limply over the side.

Sean rolled back over onto his back and drifted back to sleep, listening to the muted clicks of the mouse buttons and the clink of the mug as Tony set it down on the desk.

**AN:** Wow, I asked for a beta in my last chapter, and I got _four_. So much thanks must be given to my betas: B, Mandi, Purple Rhapsody, and Shannon. B also gets bonus points for letting me borrow insomniac!Race to play with. If you haven't read "Cigarettes and His Mother's Eyes," from whence insomniac!Race came, go do it!

And, of course, thanks to those who read and reviewed Chapter One, both at and the Refuge: Lyse's Pieces, SeraphStar, Rustie73, Braids, Fury, Sev-Chan, and Woody.


	3. Behind Blue Eyes, Ch 3

**Chapter Three**

The first three weeks of the semester passed hurriedly by in a rush of syllabi and crisp new notebooks. The temperatures eased down from the nineties and high eighties to the low eighties and seventies, though the dorm rooms remained persistently hot and stuffy. The grounds crew stopped cutting the lawn and started raking leaves. And as the leaves on the maples all over the quad began to change to deep red, golden and fiery orange hues, lovey-dovey couples began to congregate under them to study, make out, and generally look schmoopily into each other's eyes.

It made Sean sick.

He fought his way past the couples sprawled on beach towels on the lawn, "accidentally" kicking fallen leaves over one entangled pair, and headed towards the looming bulk of Maxon Hall where the computer science department was located. He'd been pleased to be able to get into all upper-level classes for his computer science major – with a little luck and some judicious hacking during next semester's registration, he'd actually be able to graduate on time in the spring – but vaguely annoyed to find that Jack Kelly was in all three of his comp sci classes. Thus far, the two of them had largely been ignoring each other.

He took his customary seat in the back of the classroom and logged into the computer at his workstation. His other classes were okay, but this one was a pain in the ass. It was supposed to be an advanced web design class, but the prof had spent the last three weeks going over the most basic of HTML coding and Dreamweaver functions. The urge to ditch was overwhelming, but he kept reminding himself that was what had gotten him kicked out of his last school. Well, that and breaking that football player's jaw.

Sean tipped his chair back against the wall and watched as Jack came in, chatting with the two girls who were trailing in his wake. There were only two girls in the class – comp sci was a field still largely dominated by men – and they'd both attached themselves immediately to Jack, taking workstations on either side of his, arriving with him, leaving with him, chatting with him during the breaks. Sean wondered idly if Jack was banging both of them.

The professor trailed in two minutes after the class was supposed to start, flipped on the projector, and immediately began droning about text boxes. Sean rolled his eyes and prepared to waste another hour and forty minutes cruising around the Internet. Over his classmates' shoulders, he could see instant messenger boxes and games of solitaire popping up on screens all over the room.

"Excuse me, Dr. Isaacson," Jack said.

The prof stopped and looked at Jack in surprise. Sean looked up as well. "Mr. Kelly?"

"Sir, since this is an advanced web design class, I was thinking that we could maybe work on some more complex stuff, like flash media or something."

The professor's face darkened. Score one for Kelly for speaking up, Sean thought. Take one away for calling the prof out in front of the class and embarrassing him. "Mr. Kelly, I'm sure if you think you're more advanced than the material we're covering, we can come up with some more advanced assignments to fill your time."

Temper flashed across Jack's face. Sean watched, intrigued. It was the first time he'd seen anything but good-natured oafishness and charm on Jack's face. "Sir, I don't think that's fair," he said. "This is, as I said, an _advanced_ web design class. We've all been through basic web programming before – we know HTML coding like the back of our hands."

"I don't really care what you think, Mr. Kelly," said Dr. Isaacson, fury plain on his face. "You are not the – "

But Jack spoke over him. "I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels this way," he said. He stood, looking around the room. "Who else in here feels like this stuff is too basic, like we should be covering more advanced web design?"

The room was silent, the other students looking around at each other. They all felt the same way; Sean could read it on their faces and would have known even if he hadn't been able to see the time-wasting going on of all their computer screens. But it was clear no one was going say a word. Agreeing with Jack at this point would be asking for additional assignments, not to mention putting their final grades in serious jeopardy.

The bums, Sean thought.

Dr. Isaacson looked smug. "Well then, Mr. Kelly, it seems you are alone in your opinion. Perhaps you'd like to stay after class and we'll discuss how you might keep yourself busy?"

Sean stood. "I agree with Jack."

Dr. Isaacson froze. Jack stared at him, then said, "Anyone else?" and looked around the room hopefully.

Sean leveled his best glare on the rest of the members of the class. _Go ahead_, he thought. _Don't say a word. Wait and see what I'm going to do to you after class is over_.

The girls sitting on either side of Jack glanced at each other, then hesitantly raised their hands. Jack grinned at them. "We're paying to be educated about advanced web design, here," he said. "Because we're not receiving that education, not only are our qualifications being affected, but the reputation of the school and of you as a professor is being damaged, as well." Sean glowered at the kids in the row with him until they both raised their hands. "If we go to apply for a web programming job and we don't have the skills they expect us to have, it's going to come back to the school and eventually, someone's going to check who was supposed to be teaching us advanced web design," Jack continued. He was a convincing speaker; for the first time, Sean began to see what other people seemed to find so charismatic about Jack, why Tony and all his friends liked just being around him. Slowly, the hands of the other students in the classroom went up, inspired by either Jack's words or Sean's stare.

Dr. Isaacson looked around the room blankly, then shuffled the papers on his desk and cleared his throat. "I – uh – I'll take a look at revising the syllabus," he finally said lamely.

Jack caught up with Sean after class. "Thanks for the help in there."

Sean shrugged and kept walking. "Whatever. I didn't do nothing."

Jack grabbed his elbow, stopping him. "You did, and you know it. You not only spoke up when no one else would, but you scared the rest of them into admitting they agreed. They would have left me hanging otherwise." He stuck his hand out.

Sean stared at him for a minute, then finally nodded shortly and shook. "I don't like people getting away with being bums," he said. When Jack grinned at him, he pulled his hand back. "Don't think this makes us best friends or nothing."

But when Jack came into the classroom during their next class period and sat in the workstation next to his, Sean just watched him, evaluating. "You sure you can abandon your harem up there?" he finally said, nodding at the two girls who were sitting in their usual seats, looking back at Jack in bewilderment. And when Jack grinned in response, Sean almost – almost – felt the corners of his mouth lifting in an answering smile.

* * *

Tony was sitting at his desk when Sean got back to their room that evening after a quick dinner eaten alone in the SDR. His face was buried in a thick psychology textbook, his fingers tightly clenched around a fat yellow highlighter. He didn't look up when Sean came in.

Sean settled into his own desk and woke his computer up from hibernating. He checked his e-mail accounts; there was nothing yet from either Jax or Belcher about Jack. He ran his fingers through his hair idly, contemplating where else he could go for information.

"So what's Jack's deal?"

Looking startled, Tony glanced up from his textbook. "What?"

"Jack. What's his deal?"

"Uh, as far as what? He's a comp sci major, lives with Davey, graduating this spring…"

Sean drummed his fingertips against his thigh. "Where's he from?"

Tony was giving him a very odd look. "I don't know. He works summers in Santa Fe. I always assumed he was from there. I've never asked."

"He have a job?"

Tony's brow furrowed. "You got a crush on him or something?"

Sean just watched him.

"He tends bar at Kloppman's downtown," Tony said, sighing. "Why?"

Sean shrugged. Time to back off. "Looking for a job. Need some spending money." That was relatively true. "Thought maybe Jack could get me in where he works." That wasn't true.

Tony laughed so loudly it startled him. "Sean, I don't think bartending would be a good line of work for you. You'd have to, you know, talk to people. Listen to all their problems. Give them advice and make conversation." He leaned back and grinned. "Jack's very good at it. You'd suck."

Snorting, Sean pulled out his cigarettes and lit one up.

Tony's grin immediately turned to a glare, and Sean smirked inside. It was ridiculously easy to punch Tony's buttons.

"Can you not do that in here?" Tony said, annoyance clear in his voice. "I'd like to not die of lung cancer before I'm thirty-five."

Sean blew a slow stream of smoke in Tony's direction.

Tony stood, stormed over to Sean's desk, yanked the cigarette from between his fingers, and stabbed it out in the sink. He turned on the water and rinsed the ash down the drain.

"As thrilling as it is to have you actually speak to me for, oh – " Tony glanced at his writstwatch. "Wow, two and a half minutes, I have big exam on Friday for my major capstone class that I need to ace. So, unless you desperately need to know what brand of toothpaste Jack uses or whether he prefers boxers or briefs, I'm going back to studying."

Tony's body got all tight when he was pissed, Sean observed. Not stick-up-his-ass tight like David's did, but like the muscles were all clenching. You could sense the strength they held reined in most of the time. He turned back to his computer screen and, for lack of anything better to do and because he actually did need a job – especially if he was going to have to pay more hackers to look for Jack's records – starting searching the classifieds.

* * *

"Shit," Race muttered as the ringing phone interrupted his studying the following evening. He really needed to ace the exam tomorrow; he needed a perfect 4.0 in his major if he wanted to get into a good grad program. But damned people kept interrupting him. He waited, listening to the ring pattern – it was his, three short rings, not that that surprised him since Sean really never got any calls – and, hoping it wasn't his mother, grabbed the receiver. "Yeah, hello?"

"Race, it's Blink. We're downstairs. Come let us in." The echoey sound of Blink's voice meant he was standing in the dorm entryway talking into the intercom.

Race sighed and rubbed his eyes. "All right, I'll be right down."

When he got to the first floor, there was no one standing in the entrance, but he followed the sounds of Blink and Mush's voices to the lounge. The pair was sitting on one of the couches, their sneakers kicked off and feet up on the coffee table, eating a pizza and watching TV.

"Uh, I could have sworn you guys had an apartment for stuff like this," Race said.

"Ssh, _CSI_ is on!" Mush said, eyes glued to the screen.

"How'd you guys get in here, anyway?" Race asked.

"Some girl let us in. She had a key," Blink said.

Race snorted. "Gotta love that locked dorm security system."

"Ssh!" Mush said, making frantic hushing noises with his hands. Race rolled his eyes and accepted a piece of pizza from the greasy cardboard box that Blink offered to him, then perched on the arm of the sofa and waited for a commercial to come on. When an ad for Coca-Cola finally flashed across the screen, he said, "Not that I don't appreciate a free dinner, but why are you guys here?"

"It's Thursday night," Mush said. "We need to watch _CSI_."

"You just need to watch it so you can get off on that Greg guy," Blink said, elbowing him.

"Eric Szmanda, owner of one of the finest asses in the country," Mush said, looking highly dignified. "Besides, you just watch it for Jorja Fox, anyway."

Blink shrugged. "That gap between her teeth does something serious to me."

"Great. Wonderful," Race said. "You're both horny _CSI_ addicts. Got that. Now explain to me what the fuck you're doing watching in my dorm lounge instead of your own living room."

Mush glared at Blink. "He broke our TV," he said.

"How?"

"I was fighting with Del," Blink said, looking slightly chagrined.

Mush coughed. "Cough_foreplay_cough."

Blink glared at him. "We do not have anything going on! She's a pain in my ass!"

"Just tell me what the hell happened," Race said wearily. "I need to get back upstairs and finish studying."

"We were fighting, and she shoved me."

Mush cackled. "She shoved him so hard he backed up into the coffee table, fell backwards over it, and knocked the TV off the stand as his feet went up over his head."

Race snorted back laughter. Blink was glowering at Mush again. "It's not funny," Blink insisted. "I'm broke as a joke, and now I'm going to have to scrape together some money to get us a new TV or we'll be spending more time in Race's dorm lounge than our own apartment."

"Oh, relax," Mush said. "David's parents have an old TV in their rec room that no one uses. Last time I visited, Mrs. Jacobs offered it to me. I'll call Dave tonight and see if we can borrow it until we can afford to get a new one."

Blink looked slightly placated.

Race stood. "As gripping as this little roomie love session has been, really, I need to get some more studying done before my own roommate comes home."

Mush and Blink stared at him.

"What?"

"Are you telling us," Blink said slowly, "that _Sean_ talks too much when he's around and you can't get your work done?"

Race laughed shortly. "I wish. No, he's just utterly, eerily silent." He thought about the weird, rare conversation they'd had the night before about Jack. "Most of the time. Creeps me out until I can't work."

The other boys chuckled. "Too bad he's so prickly," Mush said. "He's kinda cute."

Blink snorted. "You're such a man whore."

"Hmph," Mush said. "It's just a thought. I don't even know if he's gay or straight. Besides," Mush continued, "I just think, I don't do – I leave all the man-whore doing to Jack."

The boys laughed.

"So what is he?" Blink asked.

"Huh," Race said. "You know, I don't know. I mean, he's awfully macho for such a skinny little guy, but he seems to be fine with our crowd – doesn't even flinch when he sees Dutch all over Specs."

"He's never said, though?" Mush persisted.

"I've never asked," Race pointed out.

Mush fiddled with the remote control and stared at his knees. "Maybe you should."

Race frowned. "Are you really into him?"

Mush shrugged. "He is kinda hot."

Race's frown deepened. "I don't see it. He's so skinny."

"Not everyone likes to go to the gym and bulk up like you two," Blink said, rolling his eyes.

"But he's got such an attitude," Race persisted.

"He's also got nice hair, and an absolutely gorgeous pair of eyes," Mush pointed out. "Besides, the attitude is part of the attraction. You know, like who'll be the one who can tame Sean?"

"Jesus, Mush, he's not a dog," Race said.

Blink and Mush exchanged looks.

"What?"

"You're being, um, awfully defensive of him, Race," Mush finally said.

"Possessive, even," Blink said.

"Well, you're acting like he's a piece of meat to be dissected," Race said, vaguely aware that there was something not quite right about the metaphor – Dave the brilliant English major probably could have told him what. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Look, I've gotta get back to studying. Call me if you need anything." He strode out of the room, leaving Mush and Blink staring after him.

But he hesitated in the lobby, finally heading out the front door instead of going back to his room. Blink and Mush had pulled his train of thought too far away from psychology for him to be able to concentrate on studying for a while. Sighing, he strode across campus, heading for the University Center basement and the campus newspaper office.

David looked up from the pile of articles he was thoroughly massacring with his red pen when Race flopped down on his back on the small couch in the office.

"Race."

"Heya, Dave."

"Do you need something?"

"Nope."

There was a long pause, during which David tapped his fingers impatiently on the desktop. "Look, Race," he finally said, "I've got about thirty more shitty stories to read before we can start layout tonight, I haven't written my own article, and my opinion editor is MIA, along with his whole section. So it's not that I don't want to spend quality time with you, it's just that this isn't quality time, you know?"

Race grinned at the ceiling. "You sound all grown up when you talk like my mother, Dave," he said.

David sighed.

Race sat up and held out a hand. "Gimme a couple of those. I'll take a look at them for you."

David hesitated. "I don't think I've ever read anything of yours – do you know what you need to look for? How's your grammar?"

"I before E except after C, subject and verbs should agree, blah, blah, blah," Race said, shaking his outstretched hand. "C'mon."

David handed him a stack, then tossed a battered copy of the _AP Style Guide_ into his lap. "Anything you're not 100 sure on, look it up."

"Yes, mother." For a few minutes, the two young men worked in silence. "So the opinion editor's MIA?" Race finally said.

David tore his eyes away from the papers again. "Yeah. I have the most fucked-up editorial board, I swear. And it doesn't help that Pulitzer's rumbling about all these budget changes – if any of them happen, it's going to mean serious coverage."

"Really? For budget cuts?"

"Budget cuts determine a lot, Race. Aren't you worried about how they could fuck with your program?"

Race shrugged. "It's not like I can do anything about it," he said. "It's a rigged deck – they have all the marbles."

David smiled slightly. "You're mixing your metaphors."

He'd known Dave would be able to correct his metaphors. "Whatever," he said, grinning, then winced. That wasn't exactly his favorite word right now.

The two worked in silence again for about five minutes before Race looked up. "So, these stories kinda suck."

"Mm hm."

"This reporter actually wrote the sentence: 'The proposal budget cuts could changed the department they effect.' "

"Uh-huh."

"They have trained monkeys or something doing the reporting for you guys now?"

"Dunno."

Sighing, Race got up to turn on the radio. He'd chosen the local classic rock station, but as soon as he sat down, David flipped it off. "I need it quiet so I can read."

"Yeah, well, I can't handle the quiet anymore," Race said. "After three weeks of living with Sean? Both of us were in the dorm room all day on Sunday, and no one said a word. All. Fucking. Day. It just about drove me out of my skull."

David looked up. "That bothers you? I always thought you were kind of the loner type."

Race groaned. "Yes, it bothers me, because there's a huge difference between being alone and enjoying it and being not alone with someone who won't speak to you. It's damned creepy."

"So why didn't you leave?"

"Nowhere to go. You went home for the weekend, Jack was out probably screwing around on your sister, Blink had an out-of-town game, Mush had rehearsals, and Specs and Dutchy probably didn't get out of bed all weekend."

"Skittery? Bumlets? The girls? You could have gone to the library or something on your own. Or, god forbid, you could have driven home to visit _your_ parents."

Race groaned again. "Now there's a tough choice – be silently tortured by Sean or loudly tortured by my mother all weekend." He paused to scribble a note on the article he was scanning.

"Yeah? Well, which would you take?" David asked.

Race chewed on his pen cap. "Um. Sean."

David raised his eyebrows. "Wow. Really?"

Race shrugged. "At least he doesn't try to – I don't know. Change me, I guess. That sounds dumb. It's not necessarily a good thing – it's just that he doesn't give a shit about me one way or the other."

"Well, look, next time come home with me for the weekend, okay? My parents love you, and if you're around there'll be someone else for Les to hang all over. Sarah swears he latches onto us as soon as we walk through the door and won't let go until my dad pries him off when we're getting in the car."

Race smiled. "I like Les. He's a cute kid, Dave."

David rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I think it helps if you're not related to him, though. The big wounded eyes just don't do anything for me anymore."

He helped Dave finish off the pile of articles, then clapped him on the shoulder, wished him good luck with layout, and headed out into the falling night. He paused, thinking again about going back to his room and his psych texts; Sean would probably be back by now, his silent presence seeming to take up so much space and air. Finally, he turned and started walking down the sidewalk towards the downtown. One of the benefits of going to school in a small city was that everything important was within walking distance of the campus – including the bars.

It wasn't just Sean's silence that unnerved him, he reflected. It was the almost palpable aura of "I don't need anyone" that he gave off. And that fact that even when he wanted to wring Sean's neck for saying "whatever" the thirty-sixth time in a row, he couldn't help notice Sean – _notice­_ notice him. He was built like a model – those slim hips were just made to have hip hugger jeans riding low on them. Race had worried for a short while that perhaps Sean was anorexic, but after having shared several meals with him, he concluded it wasn't a problem. He didn't eat like a pig – not nearly as much as Blink, whose daily baseball training made him ravenous – but he ate enough. Unless he was going to the bathroom and throwing it up, which Race hadn't noticed any signs of, Sean simply had a naturally slim build and a fast metabolism.

Race pushed open the doors to Kloppman's, the bar he liked to frequent when he was alone, and was greeted with a wave of heat, the smell of beer, and the sounds of low voices, noticeable but not loud. If he wanted to hang out with friends and enjoy the press of people and loud music, he'd go to any one of the other bars and clubs that catered to the college crowd. Kloppman kept his place clean, served good beer without watering it down, and liked the atmosphere in his place to feel friendly, instead of like a party. It suited Race when he wanted to think.

And he was thinking, quite a bit, and still about Sean. Sean's build wasn't the only thing that had caught his eye; he had full, pouty lips and those eyes, too. And he'd been kind of funny when he'd loosened up that Thursday evening he'd joined them in the lounge.

But, Race reminded himself as he settled at the bar and flagged Kloppman down to order a lager, Sean hadn't joined them since, and practically refused to speak to him or any of his friends; he'd made it abundantly clear that he wasn't going out of his way to get to know anyone.

Maybe he had secrets, or a rough past.

But everyone had secrets, and most of their friends had had rough childhoods.

It was going to be a long year at this rate. Race didn't relish the idea of sharing a room with someone who refused to speak more than three syllables at a time to him.

So why had he defended Sean to Blink and Mush?

He sighed and drained his beer. He was thinking in circles. Accepting a second drink with a nod, he tried to put Sean out of his mind, settling in to listen to the conversations around him. It was good to just sit in silence and let the tension from the last few weeks ease out of him. Really, Dave was right – he was a loner at heart. He liked his privacy and his alone time.

Still, he didn't object when he heard someone settling on the bar stool next to his and turned to see Jack.

"Race."

"Jack."

Jack grinned and thanked Kloppman when he set a Corona on the bar, then made some quick small talk about what days Jack would be working that weekend and how business had been recently. When Kloppman headed away to the other side of the bar to fill some order, Jack lapsed into silence. That was why Race didn't mind Jack; Jack appreciated a quiet contemplation almost as much as Race did.

"So your new roommate."

Except for today, it seemed.

"Yeah?"

"He's not so bad."

"No?"

Jack shifted, rolling the bottle between his fingers and watching the lime bob. "Isaacson and I got into it a few days ago. The rest of the class was going to let me take it, but Sean spoke up and made the rest of the class help me out."

"He spoke up?"

"Yeah."

"As in he talked voluntarily?"

"Yeah. Glared a lot, too."

"Yeah, the glaring I've seen," Race muttered. It figured that he'd live with the guy for three weeks and not hear more than a word a day from him, but when he finally talked to Race, it would be about Jack. And when the guy finally spoke to someone else, it would be Jack could get him to take a stand and speak up and act like he cared about something.

And which rubbed the most? That Sean had actually spoken, or that he'd actually cared?

"I'll see you later, Jack," Race said, standing and tossing a few bills on the counter.

"You leaving already?" Jack asked, looking surprised.

Race shrugged. "I got work early tomorrow," he said.

He trudged through the halls of his dorm, pushing Sean out of his mind with idle admiration of the doors of his floormates' rooms; each door was an expression of its residents' personalities. Many of them had strings of Christmas lights wrapped around them, or were covered in photos and posters and magazine clippings, and every one had a white board where students could note where they were or leave messages for their friends: "Dinner in the SDH." "Eng 111 til 9 (blech!)." "Mike, I stopped by at 3:05. Call me, L." He'd started to decorate their door a few days ago; it currently only featured photos of several of his friends during the last semester and a large poster of Albert Einstein sticking out his tongue. He'd been toying with the idea of taking some of his older decks of cards and making a border all the way around the door. He'd have to ask Sean about it, he thought.

Then he snorted. Like Sean gave a rat's ass.

He made his way to his room, idly reading the messages on the white boards along the way. Legal snooping, like reading everyone's away messages on AIM, he thought. "Bob – meet me in the lib. Carly," "I love you, Travis," "Back by 10 – grocery shopping." Sean was back, as he had expected – not that he could hear anything coming from their room, but the door was open. Race erased the "downstairs" from under his name on their own white board and went in, tossing his keys on his dresser top and flopping across his bed. Sean didn't say a word. Race stared at the bottom of Sean's bunk, and just let the silence eat into him like a cancer.

**

* * *

AN: I managed to break my finger a week or so ago (in an oh-so-graceful move that's pretty typical of me), which is making typing seriously unpleasant and definitely putting a crimp in my creative process. But I do have a few chapters stored up that are awaiting beta, so hopefully I'll be able to keep updating while this thing heals.**

Meanwhile, thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the last chapter, and lots of love to my betas, Mandi, Purple Rhapsody, Shannon, and B. Oh, and I have to thank the lovely folks at Barnes and Noble for having a sale that made it possible for a broke girl like me to get my very own copy of Newsies on DVD. No more bumming off my sister!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing Newsies related… other than my beautiful new DVD.


	4. Behind Blue Eyes, Ch 4

**Chapter Four**

Sean could hear someone else in the dorm room when he got back after his 4:00 class on Thursday, but when he rounded the closets, it was Jack, not Tony, who was sitting on the futon.

"What're you doing here?" Sean asked, dropping his backpack on the floor and toeing off his sneakers.

"Hello to you too," Jack said, not looking up from the copy of _Psychology Today _he was flipping through.

"You need something, Jacky-boy?"

"How does Race read this shit?" Jack asked. He closed the magazine and tossed it on Tony's desk. "He's working out with Mush. He told me to go ahead and wait for you."

Sean sighed and flopped down in his desk chair. "And for the third time, what do you want?"

"Listen, Davey's birthday is in a few days," Jack said. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes. "Mind if I smoke? Davey won't let me smoke in our room."

Sean nodded, then pulled out his own smokes and accepted the lighter Jack passed to him. Tony had asked him not to smoke in their room either, but if he opened the window, most of the smell would be cleared out by the time his roommate got home.

Jack took a long drag, then tilted his head and blew out a plume of smoke. "Anyway, I'm taking Davey out for dinner for his birthday."

"How romantic. Be sure to get him a dozen roses and a bottle of champagne, too."

"Shut up, will you?" Jack said calmly, tapping the ash off the end of his cigarette into the empty mug sitting on Tony's desk. Sean made a mental note to rinse it out later, then frowned. That thought had sounded an awful lot like being considerate. "So we're going out and I'm inviting a bunch of our friends to come with us." He stopped.

"So?" Sean finally prompted.

Jack raised his eyebrows. "So, you want to come along?" Sean opened his mouth to answer, but Jack jumped in quickly. "And look, I want to point out that I'm asking you as a possible friend, not just as Race's roommate."

"You getting mushy on me, Jacky-boy?" Sean said.

"You scared to go out to a little dinner with a bunch of guys who just want to be friendly towards you?" Jack countered.

It was close, very close, to the truth, but Sean glared. "No."

Jack ground his cigarette out in the bottom of Tony's mug. "Look, it's a free meal away from campus. If you've got a half a brain, you'll come along for the real food if nothing else."

Sean tipped his desk chair back on two legs, resting the back of the chair on the bedframe. "What's with you and Davey, Jacky?"

Jack sighed. "We're best friends. He's like my brother. No, we're not gay, with each other or anyone else. Why do people always ask me what's with us?"

"Because you act like you're madly in love with each other, and you hang out with a group of people that appears to be largely gay or bisexual," Sean pointed out.

Jack frowned. "They're not all gay or bisexual. Blink's straight. Sarah's straight. Davey and I are straight. Gabby and Bumlets are both straight." He began ticking names off on his fingers. "And I think Swifty and Del and Teensy are all straight – though they could be bi, I've never asked."

"But Specs and Dutchy are very, very gay," Sean said.

"Well, I can't argue with that one," Jack said, grinning slightly. "And, admittedly, Mush and Skittery are both bi."

"And Tony?" Sean asked, almost too casually.

Jack's face grew guarded. "I think what Tony wants you to know about his sexuality is his business, not mine." He raised an eyebrow. "Besides, what about you?"

Sean stood and went to the sink to grind his cigarette out. "Maybe what I want you to know about my sexuality is my business, not yours, too."

"Fair enough," Jack said, nodding. He stood. "I'm going to go. Dinner for Davey birthday's on Saturday at 6:30 – we'll meet downstairs in the lobby." He picked up his keys from where they lay on Tony's desk. "I'll see you in class tomorrow. It's been – interesting."

It had been _very _interesting, Sean reflected as he picked up Tony's mug and started rinsing the ashes out into the sink.

* * *

Race sorted through his e-mail, deleting spam and advertisements. There was an e-mail from his mother, one from his psych ethics professor about a change to the syllabus, and a forward from his aunt that was probably ridiculously sappy. He opened that one first and sighed. He was right; it was one of those "you've been blessed by an Internet angel" things with the angel all drawn out in the e-mail with parentheses and ampersands and percent signs. Gag.

The message from his mother was slightly more personal, but no less gag-worthy.

Dear Anthony,

How has the weather been up there at school this week? It's been warm and sunny here, but I can tell winter is right around the corner. I spent last weekend planting my fall bulbs and your father put away the patio furniture. We both ached when we went to bed that night, but what needs doing must be done without complaint.

How have your classes been this fall? Have you made any new friends through them? Have you met any nice girls? We do so look forward to meeting any new friends or girlfriends. It's no secret that your father and I are getting on in years, and we hope someday soon to see our grandchildren. Perhaps Mass would be a good place to meet someone with similar values?

I hope everything is well at school. We miss you, of course, and hope that you are making healthy and holy decisions. Avoid temptation, Anthony, and pray for strength.

God's blessings on you,

Mother

Jesus. Race rolled his eyes. A little window popped up in the corner of his screen, letting him know that thewalkingmouth had just signed on. He opened an IM box.

**Pokerface1219: **hey davey

**thewalkingmouth:** Hey, Race. What's up?

**Pokerface1219:** if i ever go loudly insane, i don't want you to be surprised. it's genetic.

**thewalkingmouth:** …What did your mom do now?

**thewalkingmouth:** Or do I not even want to know?

Race copied and pasted the text of his e-mail message into the IM box and sent it to David.

**Pokerface1219:** read that.

**thewalkingmouth:** Wow. She really lays it on thick, doesn't she?

**Pokeface1219: **uh, yeah. you know what the translation of that email is?

**thewalkingmouth:** ?

**Pokerface1219:** dear anthony, your father and i are working very hard without you here, much harder than we should have to at our age. feel guilty, very guilty. the sooner you get back here to take care of us, the better.

**Pokerface1219:** paragraph 2: i really hope you've made new friends instead of those loser arts students you used to hang around with. i don't think they were a very good influence on you. so when are you going to hurry up and find a gf so you can settle down and start making grandkids for me? oh, and btw, you're going to mass every wkend, right?

**thewalkingmouth:** She really has no clue that you're never going to find a nice girl, does she?

**Pokerface1219:** well, i'm certainly not going to tell her. she and my dad would either disown me or try to get me "help." either that or i'd say, "hey mom, i'm gay," and she'd die of shock and horror on the spot.

**Pokerface1219:** …maybe i should keep that in mind.

**thewalkingmouth:** She'd probably blame it on the bad influence of all those arts kids.

**Pokerface1219:** probably.

**Pokerface1219:** but the best part of the email's the end: by the way, anthony, you better not be gambling again. it will turn you into an evil, evil person. i will pray for your soul, and you should too.

**thewalkingmouth:** So, speaking of your lack of a gf, is there anyone – I mean a male anyone – you're interested in right now?

**thewalkingmouth: **…Race?

**Pokerface1219: **… yeah, i'm here…davey, have i ever told you how subtle you're not?

**thewalkingmouth:** blushes

**Pokerface1219:** lol. look, we've only got a semester and a half or so left. i'm not getting involved with anyone when we'd just get screwed up in a few months.

**thewalkingmouth:** And you claim Skittery's pessimistic.

**Pokerface1219:** pessimistic, paranoid… the joys of being a pothead. and hey, you're not exactly in a position to criticize my love life. who're you seeing right now?

**thewalkingmouth:** …

**Pokerface1219:** yeah, that's what I thought.

**thewalkingmouth:** Whatever. Leaving now. Ttyl.

thewalkingmouth has signed off.

* * *

By the time Sean woke up on Friday morning, Tony was already gone. That wasn't terribly surprising; Sean had surmised that the guy likely had a job, because he was gone three or four mornings a week. What was surprising was that Sean hadn't woken up when Tony had gotten up and left. It either meant that Tony had been exceptionally quick and quiet as he got ready to go, or Sean was starting to get used to and comfortable with the little noises his morning routine made – the pad of his bare feet over to the closet, soft rustle of his clothes slipping on, the scrape of his razor across his jaw as he stood over the sink.

Stretching out his long limbs – length he'd never quite grown into – Sean dropped from his bunk to the floor. He'd torn a want ad out of the local paper in the library a few days ago; today was as good a day as any to go apply. He briefly considered trying to find something to wear that was more… nice than his usual band T-shirt and jeans, then dismissed the idea and yanked a Led Zeppelin tee over his head. It would have felt too much like lying.

The diner the ad was for was about a mile from the campus, not too far to walk in anything but the worst weather, which meant it would work well for Sean, who wasn't the proud owner of anything that could get him from place to place other than his own two feet. Busing tables didn't sound like the most fun he could possibly have, but it also didn't sound like it would require much thought.

Sweat had just started to bead up on his brow when he got to the diner – it was still pretty warm out when the sun was shining – and Sean was glad to slip into the air conditioning. As soon as the sun spots faded from his eyes, he made his way to the counter. A waiter approached, and he almost laughed. It was too ironic.

"Something funny?" Tony asked, looking annoyed. His white dress shirt was splattered with what looked like oatmeal, and the apron that was slung around his hips was plastered with bits of food and grease stains and juice spills; he'd already had a rough morning, Sean surmised. So he was relatively polite and to the point when he answered.

"Yeah," Sean said. "I'm here about the busboy job."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Are you trying to piss me off?"

"Of course not. I live in fear of your anger," Sean said sarcastically. So much for trying to be polite. "Look, I didn't know you worked here, and I actually do need a job."

Tony sighed. "Fine." He raised his voice. "Wease! There's a kid here to apply for that busboy job." He strode off, and a corpulent, greasy-looking man approached.

"You want the job?" he said.

"What's it pay?" Sean asked coolly.

Weasel snorted and named a wage higher than minimum, but still very conservative.

"And if I have experience?"

Weasel snorted again. "Please. Like you need experience to be able to clear dirty dishes. My five-year-old niece has experience with that."

The man was gross, Sean decided. And annoying. But didn't seem particularly bright, so Sean would probably be able to work him. "I have wait staff experience. I can help cover tables if there's a rush."

Weasel watched him, measuring. "I'm not in charge of the wait staff," he finally responded.

"I am," said a new voice, and Sean turned to see Del standing there. "It's the smart ass," she said, nodding at Sean.

He desperately wanted to respond with, "It's the bitch," but restrained himself since he was trying to get a job. He just nodded back at her in response.

"Bump his salary up by fifty cents, Weasel," Del said, "and I'll use him too when we're busy."

Weasel grunted. "But he answers to me. I'm his manager."

Del shrugged. "Sure, your headache." She headed over to the window into the kitchen, where three plates of steaming food had just appeared.

"All right, kid," Weasel said. "You start next Tuesday, work Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Fridays, Saturdays, six to eleven."

Sean rapidly did a mental schedule-check and nodded. "Fine." Tony was standing near the register, refilling salt shakers and not even bothering to pretend he wasn't listening. When Weasel walked away, Sean approached him.

"I didn't know you worked here," Sean said again when Tony didn't speak.

"Fine," Tony said. He went back to his salt shakers.

Sean rolled his eyes. "Look, if it'll bother you that much, I'll look for something else." It was a concession he found he was willing to make – which surprised him.

Looking surprised himself and vaguely uncomfortable, Tony screwed a cap back on. "Don't. It's good pay. You won't find anything better." He wiped his hands on his apron. "I work Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, too. If you're up and ready to go on time, I'll give you a ride." The shakers clinked together as he picked up four in each hand and headed towards the tables. Sean didn't follow, but watched him as he walked away.

* * *

Race and Sean hadn't spoken about their encounter in the diner – or about the generous amounts of time they would soon get to spend working together – by the time they started getting ready for David's birthday dinner the next evening. Race was in a foul mood: a lousy morning at work had been compounded by a mountain of homework that he'd barely touched and the fact that Sean was coming to dinner with them. He wasn't sure what it was about Sean coming to dinner that bothered him – if it was that Sean, with his silence and smirks, would be intruding on what Race had planned to be downtime with his friends, or if it was that, again, Sean apparently had no trouble with social interaction if Jack asked it of him.

Whatever the cause, Race was feeling slightly pissy as the hostess led them to a square table in the center of the dining room and the eight young men settled closely around it. The Italian restaurant Jack had chosen for Dave's birthday dinner was small and friendly looking, with the requisite red and white-checkered tablecloths and drippy candles in Chianti bottles. Specs and Dutchy sat at one end of the table, holding hands but otherwise behaving. David on another side, next to Jack, and Blink and Mush sat opposite them. Race and Sean anchored the final side of the table.

Sean hadn't said a single word on the ride over, which hadn't helped Race's mood, but he seemed to be comfortable enough in his seat between Jack and Race. Then Blink leaned across the table to talk to him, and Race held his breath, thinking, _Here we go_.

"So, Sean, are you liking USU?"

Sean raised an eyebrow. "It's a laugh a minute."

"What did you say your major was again?" Blink asked.

"I didn't."

Blink's usually bright face fell a bit, and out of the corner of his eye, Race saw Jack elbow Sean. Sean clenched his jaw, then said tightly, "I'm in comp sci."

"With me," Jack said cheerfully.

"So, what did you do before you came to school here?" Mush tried.

Sean rubbed his fingers together and pursed his lips, then blew out a deep breath. He was wishing for a cigarette, Race realized, then blinked. When had he started noticing Sean's little habits and personal tics?

"Went to school somewhere else," Sean finally said.

"Where?" Blink persisted.

Race waited, watching Sean, expecting him to slug Blink, but he merely said deliberately, "Somewhere else."

There was a moment of intense silence at the table, then David quickly asked Mush about the upcoming fall show at the campus theatre, and Jack asked Blink about the baseball team's prospects for the next season, and the tension dissolved. The annoyance that had been keeping Race on edge throughout the ride over and the beginning of the meal drained out of him as well, and he relaxed against the back of his chair.

After salads and breadsticks had been decimated and the group was waiting for their entrées, Sean stood. When Jack and Race both looked up him questioningly, he rolled his eyes. "I'm going to the john."

"Actually, I need to go too," Race said, standing. "I'll come with you."

Sean stared at him, then, muttering "whatever," turned and headed towards the back corner of the restaurant.

Race didn't say a word as he and Sean took care of their business – there were some unwritten rules that you just didn't break – but when they were standing at the sinks washing their hands, he began, "So – "

Sean interrupted him. "So, what are you, a dame or something? You gotta have a buddy to go to the john with?"

Race shook his head, watching in the mirror as Sean turned and headed for the towel dispenser. The guy had a nice ass for someone so skinny. Then he blinked and hastily brought his gaze back to his own reflection.

"So," Race tried again. "You totally wanted to jump down Blink's throat back there. Probably Mush's, too."

Sean turned to look at him over his shoulder, their eyes meeting in the mirror. "Yeah, so?" he said finally.

"Yeah, so, you didn't," Race said evenly. "You're playing nice tonight."

Sean snorted, then balled up his paper towel and tossed it into the garbage can. "Is there a point to this?" he asked.

"Look," Race said. "I'm just saying that I know you're making an effort, and I appreciate it. I mean, it would suck for Davey if we got kicked out of the restaurant for brawling."

Sean snorted again, but this time, the snort almost bordered on a laugh. "Well, I wouldn't want to ruin the guy's birthday." His shoulders slumped a bit. "I'm not a complete asshole, after all."

Race considered insisting that he didn't necessarily think Sean was a _complete_ asshole, but it sounded awfully… girly. He thought about commenting on what Jack had told him had happened with Dr. Isaacson and Sean during their comp sci class together, but got the distinct impression that Sean wouldn't be grateful for any more attention. Finally he just nodded and said, "Right."

Sean rolled his eyes. Really, it was a miracle they stayed in his head with the amount of time he spent rolling them, Race reflected. "We done with this touching little love-in?" Sean asked. He headed out the door without waiting for an answer. Race followed slowly, trying to determine if he'd just made their relationship better or worse.

Back at the table, the other boys were digging into steaming plates of pasta. Race slipped into his chair and began to spear his penne, listening to the cheerful babble around him. At the end of the table, Specs, Dutchy, and David were having a loud argument about the changing role of the media in wartime. Race blinked. It was always obvious how smart David was, but sometimes Race forgot that Dutchy and Specs, for all their moony lovey-doveyness and rampant sex drives, were pretty intelligent, too.

Conversation dwindled as the meal went on, and soon the whole table was occupied listening to Jack do dead-on impressions of some the profs. Race chuckled as he listened to Jack's breathy and heavily accented version of Dr. Larkson, the Swedish woman who was head of the theatre arts department, then leaned forward to ask Mush when the fall show was opening. His leg brushed against Sean's – they were seated pretty close together to fit around the smallish table.

"Sorry," he said off-handedly as Mush began to enthuse about the costumes and the great fur-trimmed coat he got to wear in his role as Angel in _RENT_. Race grinned.

"Mush, sometimes you're just too flamboyant for words," he said.

Mush beamed. "I know. I'm honestly not into wearing the dresses and stuff for the part – "

"Yeah, right," Blink said, ribbing Mush.

" – but the guy who plays Collins is really, really hot. He's a great singer and actor, and he knows a lot about staging and stuff. Also, he's hot."

Race chuckled, then glanced at Sean as he felt their legs brush again. Sean wasn't looking at him.

"What's the performance schedule?" he asked. "I'll come see you."

"Thursday through Sunday, shows at 7:00 and a matinee on Sunday at 2:00," Mush said. "You should come. Swifty's been helping me with my drumming, and I'm getting good. I kick fucking ass on 'Today for You.' "

Blink snorted. Mush looked at him plaintively. "You've heard me practice. Don't you think I kick ass?"

"You're the king of the pickle buckets," Blink said. "Or queen," he added, smirking.

Race grinned, then froze, smile plastered on his face, as he felt it again. Sean's calf rubbed against his, slowly, deliberately, before coming to rest flush against it, his foot cupping the top of Race's.

He felt his eyes widening, and glanced briefly at Sean's face. But Sean didn't look at Race; he simply twirled his fettuccine around his fork and read the wine list as if it were the most interesting document in the world. Anyone who didn't know him would think he looked as innocent and open as a child. But his foot was moving up Race's calf, stroking it in a most unchildlike way, and he had slid over to the edge of his chair so that his thigh was pressed against Race's. A warm tingle followed his foot's path, and Race's thigh was burning where Sean's touched it. He gulped down half his goblet of water and tried to concentrate on his conversation.

"The Mimi we have is really great," Mush was saying. "Our Maureen kinda sucks, but she's kind of a sucky character, so I'm not too worried about it."

The toe of Sean's shoe slipped up Race's ankle and under his pant leg, rubbing above the edge of his sock on his bare skin. He swallowed, and briefly wished that Sean would take his shoe off so he could feel the warmth of Sean's toes through his sock instead of the cool rubber of his sneaker sole. Even so, Race's pants were tightening in a familiar way that had nothing to do with how much he'd eaten.

"So when are you going to come?" Mush asked.

Race's eyes flew to Mush's face, shocked. It took several seconds before he realized that Mush meant when was he going to come _to the play_, not – uh, anything else.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, praying his voice wouldn't crack. "Um, Friday or Saturday, I guess." He pressed back against the pressure of Sean's foot and slid his own sneaker up so it stroked the back of Sean's calf. Two could play this game.

"The Sunday matinee would be less crowded," Mush said.

Race blinked rapidly, trying to focus on what Mush was saying and not on the heat that was flushing his body; he hoped he wasn't blushing. "Uh, right. Maybe…" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sean's hand slipping off the table and under the tablecloth. He tried not to jump when it came to rest on his thigh.

"Happy birthday to you…" A crowd of singing waiters came over to the table and set a slice of cake with a single candle in front of David. "Happy birthday dear Davey, happy birthday to you!" David alternated between looking thoroughly embarrassed yet shyly pleased and glaring at Jack, who was grinning from ear to ear, clearly the orchestrator of the little surprise. Everyone at the table turned to smile at Dave and wish him a happy birthday, and, to Race's confusion – and slight disappointment – Sean drew his hand and foot away from Race's thigh and leg.

**

* * *

AN: Dum dum dum… okay, so it's a bit of a cliffhanger, but trust me, it was where the story needed to break.**

Anyway, I'm back! The splint is gone, my finger is working almost normally, and I'm back from my annual trip to summer camp (my own personal version of HISMSV, but sadly lacking in hot newsies). Now I have a few weeks of freedom left before my next moving/school-starting adventure AND the next chapter is almost ready, so it should be up in a day or two.

Thanks as always to betas Shannon, Amanda, Purple Rhapsody, and B, and to all you lovely people who've reviewed on and The Refuge. If shout-outs were allowed, I'd write each and every one of you a little note.


	5. Behind Blue Eyes, Ch 5

**Disclaimer: **They're not mine, they're Disney's. Except Del and Susan and Lucy. Of course, Susan and Lucy are named after the characters in Chronicles of Narnia, so I guess they're half mine and half C.S. Lewis's… although, really, I only use his characters' names, not their personalities, so maybe they're something like 7/8 mine and 1/8 his.

Um, yeah. Del. She's mine, all mine.

**Chapter Five**

There were worse things that could happen, Sean reflected on the way home, than letting sexual tension get the better of you. Still, he wasn't entirely pleased with the way he'd given in to temptation at dinner. He really hadn't intended to make a move on Tony; he wasn't even really sure what had prompted him to slide his toes along Tony's calf. Maybe it had been the surprising jolt he'd gotten when their legs had accidentally brushed.

So, all right, Tony was attractive. He obviously worked out on a regular basis, and his upper body showed it. Plus, he was actually shorter than Sean, which was rare, and thus very good for Sean's ego. But he whined and complained when Sean smoked in their room. He had way too many annoying friends who were always stopping by the dorm room to talk to him. He tried to talk to Sean too often, and he pouted when Sean wouldn't respond. Sure, he was hot, but so were a dozen other guys in Sean's classes or on his dorm floor.

Sean sighed and leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the window. In the front seat, Jack and David were arguing quietly about the radio station; he got the definite impression that the argument was more a force of habit than actually something either was particularly worried about at the moment.

And that was another thing – the arguing. Tony had that smart mouth that he certainly didn't mind using. It was a relatively new experience for Sean; the men in all of his past… hook-ups? tricks? – they certainly couldn't be defined as relationships – had been quiet. He'd mostly stuck to either the big, dumb silent types or the shy, I'm-so-innocent-please-defile-me types.

Tony was sitting silently as well, staring out the window on the other side of the backseat from him. When the car arrived at the dorm, the two of them separated from Jack and David in the stairwell – the elevator was down again – and headed to the sixth floor without looking at each other. Anyone else probably would have been shooting him uncomfortable looks or at least stealing quick confused glances, but it didn't seem to be in Tony's nature to be uncertain or hesitant. Sean supposed he could have said something himself or brought up his move at dinner, but then really it wasn't in his nature to be uncertain, either.

He gave himself a little shake as he stood behind Tony, waiting for him to unlock their dorm room door. All right, so he'd let his usually solidly defensive self-control slip. That didn't mean it had to happen again. He just had to stay on guard, and use this information he'd gathered however it would benefit him the most.

At least now he was sure of one thing: Tony appeared to like boys.

* * *

Jack threw a companionable arm around David's shoulders as the climbed the stairs to their room.

"So. Good birthday?" he asked.

"The best," David said.

Jack beamed. "Yeah?"

David hid a grin. Jack was so sardonic most of the time, and then he would pull something like having the waiters sing "Happy Birthday" to David. Proud and cynical, Jack was still eager to please.

David shifted his body a bit so that his hip fit more comfortably against Jack's side as they walked. "Yeah. It was great, Jack." He turned his face up towards Jack's and smiled as they reached the top of the stairs.

Jack smiled back down at him as the two walked down the hall.

David knew that other guys his age, including most of the other students at USU, would find it weird to be walking down the hallway with their best friend's arm around their shoulders. But his group of friends had always been touchy-feely, and he and Jack were exceptionally so.

So he didn't let other people's narrow-mindedness bother him. He didn't question the fact that Jack's arm around him made him feel warm and safe and protected. And when he saw his sister leaning against the wall outside his and Jack's dorm room, he immediately squashed the irrational little flair of jealousy – now he'd have to share Jack – that bloomed in his mind.

Jack grinned when he saw Sarah, and slung an arm around her shoulders without letting go of David with the other arm. "Hey girl." He dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "Ugh, you smell."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Thanks so much, sweetheart. And how the hell did you get a reputation as a charismatic ladies' man?"

David chuckled and slipped out from under Jack's arm to unlock their room door, trying to ignore the prickling of his skin as the air temperature around him seemed to drop with the loss of Jack's body heat.

"Sorry I couldn't come tonight, David," Sarah said, squeezing his shoulder. "My stupid boss is such a Nazi. But I came over as soon as I was done." She gestured to her stained and splattered clothes. Sarah worked on campus supervising the school photo lab and darkroom – hence the stains and the strange chemical smell she carried with her after work. As campus jobs went, there were worse – she could have been stuck with Dutchy working in the phys ed laundry room washing sweaty jerseys and jock straps.

She held a gift out to him. David chuckled when he saw it was wrapped in the most recent issue of the school newspaper.

"Nice wrapping job," he said. He tossed his keys down on his desktop and took the gift. "No ribbon?"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "You'd just do something dumb like wear it on your head, anyway."

He laughed and tore into the paper. "Oh, a new crossword puzzle dictionary! Whoa, it's way bigger than my old one. Thanks, Sar." He gave his sister a hug. From his seat on his bunk behind them, Jack laughed.

"Geek," he said affectionately.

David wrinkled his nose at his roommate. "Hey, I'm the geek who corrects all the spelling and grammar errors in your papers. Besides, you're a pretty big geek yourself. I've never seen anyone get so excited about the newest software patches or whatever they're called."

"Hey, that's not geeky; geeky is getting depressed when you can't finish the Word Jumble in the paper every day." Jack held a hand out to Sarah, and she slid onto his bed next to him and cuddled into his side. "Besides I'm not a geek – I'm a computer nerd. There's a fine yet important distinction."

David snorted. "Okay, you're a nerd then. That's no better." He shivered a little. It was cold in their room tonight.

"On the contrary," Jack said. "Computer nerds are in." He paused as though contemplating. "It might have something to do with Bill Gates being like the richest person alive."

"Hmph," David said. "Bill Gates has nothing on true geniuses like Shakespeare and Chaucer and Tennessee Williams and Jane Austen."

Sarah laughed. "Except, you know, about a zillion dollars."

David glared at his sister. "Don't you have your own room to be in?"

"That's all right, Davey," Jack said. "We love you anyway, uncool geek though you are." He held out his open arm, the one not filled with Sarah, and pulled David in along his side when he sat down. David grinned at his friend and glanced at his sister.

Sarah was watching them with an odd, unreadable expression on her face.

David raised his eyebrows at her. Despite their bickering, David and Sarah got along pretty well. Sarah had always been cool about her little brother skipping a grade and being in her class, and hadn't even protested when David was accepted to USU on academic scholarship just a few days after she got her acceptance letter. David appreciated his sister – the easy way she accepted people, including his less than conventional friends, the way she never teased him about not drinking, the way she checked up on him and took advantage of having him around just enough to be sisterly, but always seemed to know when to back off for a few days and give him some space. They didn't talk much about her dating Jack – it gave David an uncomfortable clenching feeling in his stomach that he attributed to the "too much information" factor of knowing about one's sister's sex life – but were otherwise pretty open with each other.

But he couldn't interpret her expression now as she looked from Jack to David and back to Jack. He had just opened his mouth to ask what was wrong when she broke in. "So how what dinner? What did you have? I heard the alfredo at the restaurant is incredible."

The conversation drifted away to discussion of food and the various Italian restaurants in the city, and David forgot about her strange expression and just let himself enjoy being warm and comfortable curled up with the two people he liked most in the world.

* * *

Race sighed and leaned back in his desk chair, stretching. His back and limbs ached with a combination of discomfort from sitting at the cramped desk space for hours and the simple muscle fatigue that he always seemed to be battling. A tap at his door made him glance ruefully at the open text in front of him. He really needed to put in a few more hours with his advanced abnormal psych book. There was another tap and Mush's voice calling, "Race? You in there?" and Race shrugged to himself. It was Monday, and he didn't have abnormal psych class until Wednesday afternoon. A short break wouldn't hurt too much.

"Yeah, come on in, Mush," he called.

Mush slipped in, looking shy. Race sighed. Shy Mush meant Mush who had something Important to talk about. "What's up?"

Mush sat stiffly on the edge of the futon. "Not much. You?"

Race barely suppressed rolling his eyes. Did they have to play the politeness game? "Nothing exciting. How was your dress rehearsal?"

A small, hesitant smile broke across Mush's face. "It went really well. If the performances go just as well, we're going to be great."

"You just think it's great because you've got Hot Guy Playing Collins to look at."

Mush shifted uncomfortably. "Um, actually, do you have a few minutes? I kinda want to talk to you about that."

"About Hot Guy Playing Collins?"

"Yeah."

Race shrugged. "Shoot."

"Well, um, Jon – that's the actor who's playing Collins – he kinda asked me out."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

There was a silence, and Race shifted, trying to hide his impatience. "Okay. So, are you going to go out with him?"

Mush stared at the toes of his sneakers. "I dunno."

Race waited, tapping his pen against his notebook.

"I mean, he's a really nice guy, you know?" Mush finally said. "I don't want to just go out with him a few times and mess around. He deserves something better."

Wrinkling his eyebrows a bit, Race asked, "And why can't you give him something better?"

Mush looked up, meeting Race's eyes. There was desperation written across his face. "I don't think I'll ever be able to give anyone something more than that."

"Okay… because?"

"Because I'm in love with someone else!" he blurted.

Race raised a brow. "Okay."

"No," Mush said. "Not okay! Bad, very very bad!"

Race hid a smile. "Why is it bad, Mush? Why don't you go after the guy or girl you want?"

Mush hung his head again. "I don't think he's gay," he said very quietly.

"Ouch," Race said, wincing. "That's always rough." He paused, searching for the right words. "But Mush, we are a minority. You know it's always a hazard. And sometimes we just have to admit that things aren't going to work out and move on – for the best for everyone."

Mush sighed. "I can't. He's – he's perfect. He's everything I want in a guy. He's funny and sweet and athletic and upbeat, the type of guy I've always dreamed about spending my whole life with."

Race narrowed his eyes. "Do I know him?"

Mush gave a little shrug and looked away. "Uh, I dunno. Maybe."

"Mush. Is it Blink?"

Panic streaked across Mush's face. "What? No. No!"

Race sighed. "Mush, it's Blink, isn't it?"

"You have to swear you're not going to say a word!" Mush demanded.

"To who?"

"To Blink!"

"Aha," Race crowed. "I knew it. It _is_ Blink!"

Mush groaned. "Race. Tony."

"Oh, relax, _Nick_," Race said. "I'm not going to tell him." He leaned back in his chair, studying Mush, who looked miserable. "All right. You've got a few options. Ready for them?"

Mush nodded.

"Option one: Wait around on the off chance that Blink is going to announce that he's actually gay and never realized it or just always hid it well until now."

Mush beamed.

Race shook his head. "Unlikely. Option two: Don't date anyone else because you don't think you can ever love them the way you love Blink, even though he'll likely never be able to love you the same way."

Mush looked far less encouraged by this option.

"Option three: Move on. Admit to yourself that he was your first real love, but that it just couldn't work out, and move on. You never know what good relationships may be waiting out there that you're denying yourself because you're waiting for Blink."

"Yeah." Mush sighed. "Well, I know that option three is the best choice, but I think I'll keep choosing option one for a little while, yet."

"Fine." Race shrugged. "Your choice. Just don't hang on to that option for so long it becomes option two, okay?"

Mush wrinkled his nose. "Wait, what was option two again?"

Race laughed and threw his pen at Mush. "Get outta here, you freak."

"Thanks, Race," Mush called over his shoulder as he left. "You should have your own hotline or something!"

"Yeah, yeah," Race muttered, turning back to his textbook.

Mush hadn't been out of the room five minutes when there was another knock on the door.

"Come in," Race groaned. He looked up in surprise as Dutchy came around the corner of the closet and stood uncertainly in the middle of the room. "What's up, Dutchy?"

"Uh, you got a few minutes, Race?" Dutchy said, shifting from one foot to the other. "I'd kinda like to talk to you about this little problem I'm having."

"Jesus, what is this? Race's dorm room, now operating as the campus counseling center?" Race muttered. But he waved Dutchy into the room and gestured for him to take a seat on the futon. "What's up?" he repeated.

Dutchy shifted uncomfortably. "Well, you know how Specs and I are, you know, gay? And together?"

Race stared at him. "Gee, is that why you spend half your waking hours with your tongue down his throat? Thanks for clearing that up – I was confused."

Dutchy grinned and ducked his head a bit. Then his grin faded. "Well, my parents don't know," he said.

"Okay." Race nodded.

"Well, but it's not okay," Dutchy said. "I mean, I love Specs, you know? I know we seem ridiculous with the way we're always all over each other and stuff, but I really, really do love him. It's not just the sex – though that's a big part of it, 'cause the sex is great."

Race nodded again, trying not to wince. He really hoped Dutchy didn't go into anymore detail about the sex.

"So I want to tell my parents. Specs's parents know, and they were fine with us being together, but they've known he was gay since he came out when he was fourteen. My parents, on the other hand…"

"They don't know you're gay?" Race asked, keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Dutchy shook his head. "Nope."

"Well, how do you think your parents would react to the news?" Race asked reasonably. "I mean, are they homophobes, liberals, what?"

"They're not like crazy conservatives," Dutchy said. "But I wouldn't call them exactly liberal. I've never heard them say anything one way or another about gay rights."

Race tapped the end of his pen rapidly on his notebook and shrugged. "Well, you've got a fifty-fifty chance, then, right?"

Dutchy buried his face in his hands. "That's not encouraging, Race!" He muttered something into his palms.

"What?"

"I said it's worse because I'm adopted," Dutchy said in a low voice.

Race sat up straight. "Look, Dutch, no matter what happens, your parents aren't going to regret adopting you or try to send you back or anything. They love you, right?"

Dutchy shrugged.

"Look, they didn't complain when you were – uh, sick for a while, did they?"

Dutchy laughed dryly. "You mean when I cracked up?"

"All right, when you cracked up."

"No," Dutchy said slowly. "They didn't. They said they wanted me to get better."

"Well, then," Race said. He hoped Dutchy's answer made his point as clear to Dutchy as it was to Race. "Okay, look at it this way: you need to decide how badly you want them to know about you and Specs, and how badly they may take it. In some cases, the family's just better off if they don't know, and there's nothing wrong with that." He thought of his own parents. "In other cases, they'll react badly, but they'll be glad for you in the end. Eventually." He dropped his pen and turned to look directly at Dutchy. "So answer these questions: Do you love Specs?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to stay with him for a long time?"

"Yes."

"Do you want your family to know you're in love and you've found someone you want to stay with for a long time?" Dutchy hesitated. "Uh-uh," Race said. "Don't think about it, just react."

"I – yeah, I think I do."

"All right, then tell them," Race said. "But be aware that they may not take it well. Don't panic if they freak out; be prepared for it and stay calm while you're talking to them." He turned back to his desk and started tapping his pen again. "And have a back-up plan of somewhere you can stay if things go seriously badly."

"I can stay with Specs," Dutchy said. "His parents love me. They think I'm good for him." He smiled slightly.

"All right, then," Race said. "Maybe having them talk to your parents would be a good idea."

Dutchy nodded slowly. "Yeah, it might." He stood. "Thanks, Race."

"You bet. And Dutchy?" He looked up at Dutchy. "Don't get yourself worked up about it, okay? Take long, slow breaths; stay calm. Get Specs to help you chill if you need it."

Dutchy nodded again, a bit more briskly. "Right." He headed for the door.

Race sighed as he went back to his advanced abnormal psych book for the second time. When there was another knock on the door, he didn't even bother groaning.

"Yeah?"

Bumlets strode in. "Race."

Race's eyebrows rose. He and Bumlets were friends, sure, but not the type of friends who just dropped by each other's places to say hi. "Bumlets. What's up?"

"I just came to see if you could help me move next weekend," Bumlets said.

"Uh, no problem," Race said, surprised. "Can I ask why?"

"I can't handle the constant smoking going on in that house anymore," Bumlets said.

Race nodded. "Okay. Where you going to live?"

"I got an efficiency a couple of blocks down from Blink and Mush's apartment building," Bumlets replied. "I'm moving on Saturday."

Race jotted it down on a Post-It. "Got it."

Bumlets turned to go, then said quietly, "Skittery – well, Skitts is the worst. We should keep an eye on him."

"Right." Race nodded again. Bumlets was guy of few words. Not snotty-attitude, too-good-for-this quiet like Sean, but just generally reserved and shy. If he thought the problem with Skitts was bad enough to mention something about it to Race, he was really worried.

Bumlets nodded back to him and headed towards the door. "Oh," he said over his shoulder, "thanks for letting me crash on your floor all those times."

"That's apparently what I'm here for," Race said ruefully, turning back to his book.

The next two hours brought no further knocks on his door, and he was able to make considerable progress with his abnormal psych notes. Sean came back to the room a little before midnight reeking of cigarette smoke, shed his clothes, and climbed immediately into bed.

Neither of them said a word.

Race sighed as he switched his laptop over to hibernate and headed for his own bed. They hadn't said anything yet about what had happened between them at the restaurant over the weekend.

He slipped out of his T-shirt and jeans and slid into bed in his boxers. In the bunk above him, Sean was already breathing deeply. For a brief second, he let himself pretend that Sean was in the bed with him, those even breaths warming the back of his neck. Then he flipped onto his stomach and balled his pillow up in his arms. Damn his roommate for rubbing up against him at dinner and putting these ideas in his head, anyway.

At least now he was pretty damn sure that Sean was gay, or at least bi. It would take a very confused hetero to play footsie under the table with another guy in a restaurant full of people. Race sighed. Thank God for that knowledge, even if it didn't get him anywhere – he would hate to be in Mush's position, in love with a straight guy.

Poor Mush. He and Blink had been best friends since they had met freshman year. Mush, already the darling of the theatre department, had been playing Bernardo in the fall musical production of _West Side Story_; Blink had been in the pit orchestra.

And the rest was history, Race thought wryly. Blink met Del and Swifty and Gabby through the music crowd on campus and eventually formed the band. Gabby had been on the same floor with Teensy and Sarah freshman year, and the three, along with Del, secured a suite in the girls' dorm the following year. Not that that was too hard for them to do – the all-girls' dorm was hardly a popular place to live. Sarah had introduced her brother, David, and his roommate Jack, to her new friends shortly afterwards. Second semester, Jack and Race had had their freshman seminar together and had worked together on a group project, and Jack had brought Race and his roommate, Crutchy, to one of the Thursday night eating/movie-watching/gossiping sessions the group of friends had recently established.

Race rolled over onto his back. It really came as no surprise to him that Mush had fallen for his best friend. Blink and Mush had been inseparable since that fateful fall. They had become "Blink-and-Mush" in the same way that Jack and David were "Jack-and-David" and Specs and Dutchy were "Specs-and-Dutchy" – spoken of in one breath, as if they were a single unit instead of two separate individuals. Race and Crutchy had been friends, good friends, and roommates for three years, but they'd never made it to that level.

He glanced at the clock. 1:58 a.m. already. Time flies when your thoughts are running like a hamster on steroids, Race thought ruefully.

Specs and Dutchy had been on the same floor with Race and Crutchy and Jack and David sophomore year – though in separate rooms with different roommates. It had taken a year before they had hooked up, transforming them into Specs-and-Dutchy. Really, Race reflected, it was kind of surprising that Dutchy's problems with telling his parents hadn't come out before – no pun intended.

His eyes had been closed, but now, tired of staring at the inside of his eyelids, he opened them. For what felt like the millionth time since he'd moved into this room, he started counting the black dots on the ceiling tiles.

He felt for Dutchy, he really did. There were days he wished he could tell his parents about his sexuality, but it wasn't as if he didn't know how they'd react. For the most part, he felt like he got a fairly easy deal – he didn't have to worry about how his parents would react when he told them, because he was never going to tell them.

He flipped onto his stomach again. The covers felt hot and itchy, but when he kicked them off, he almost immediately began shivering. He pulled the sheet alone up over his shoulders, trying to find a happy medium.

In a perfect world, he supposed, Blink would suddenly declare his homosexuality and run off with Mush to adopt two-point-five children and live in Massachusetts. Dutchy would come out to his parents and they would accept him and Specs with open arms. Skittery would kick his pot habit, Jack would stop drinking and screwing around with everything female and breathing that walked by him, David would loosen up a little, and Weasel would quit Tibby's and take Oscar and Morris with him.

He snorted softly into his pillow. And Jake Gyllenhaal would show up at the dorm room door to tell Race he was forgoing his movie career to engage in a long and committed relationship with him.

It was a real shame they weren't living in a perfect world.

His eyes drooped shut, his thoughts centering on happy fantasies of Jake Gyllenhaal. Slowly, slowly, he felt his consciousness give up the steel grip it had on his mind. Time passed. Then he jolted and sat straight up in bed, automatically looking at the clock. 3:23 a.m. He'd slept for a little over an hour.

With a sigh, he stood and dragged on a pair of pajama pants and a hooded sweatshirt. He'd been meaning to reorganize his desk drawers sometime soon. Now was as good of a time as any.

* * *

Six o'clock in the morning was way too early to be arriving at work, Sean decided as he stood blinking sleepily at Tibby's back door, waiting to be let in. He wasn't too fond of the uniform Tony had told him to buy, either – the pleats in the black dress pants were a little too preppy for his tastes. He'd worn a Clash band T-shirt under his dress shirt, though, so at least he could lose the uniform shirt as soon as his shift ended. And he'd cuffed the bottoms of his pants and worn red Chucks. Tony had been awake when he'd gotten up and dressed, sitting at the bottom of his closet and pairing up shoes. It looked like the clothes in the closet had been rehung and organized, and the suspicious lack of Tony's clothes lying around suggested the dresser had been thoroughly gone over as well.

"Are those the shoes you're wearing to work?" Tony had asked, staring at his feet.

Sean shrugged. "Why?"

Tony looked up, and Sean almost winced. His eyes looked like they'd been burnt into his skull, with dark bruisey circles underneath them. "You do understand that you'll be spending the morning on your feet, right?"

"You got something against Chucks?"

"No. I mean, I have a pair." Tony frowned. "The, um, same color as yours, actually – but they're not exactly the best support you could have."

Sean had almost laughed. "Support? You sound like a grandma or something."

Tony's face hardened. "Fine. You'll see what I mean by the time your shift ends."

The diner's back door swung open in Sean's face, and for a moment, he wished he hadn't pissed Tony off that morning. Tuesdays were the one day he was scheduled to work that Tony wasn't, so getting a quick rundown on who was who at the diner would have been a lot smarter than going into the job blind.

A tallish guy with a small pencil-line moustache and a smirk that Sean already didn't like was standing there. "New guy, huh?" he said.

Sean raised an eyebrow. "Brilliant deduction."

The smirk melted, replaced by a glare. "You better watch it, kid," the guy snarled. "My uncle hired you, and believe me, I can make sure he fires you."

"Oh, don't worry," Sean said. "That's all I'm going to do for the entire time I work here. Just watch myself around you."

The guy looked vaguely confused, as if he weren't sure whether he was being insulted or not.

Sean sighed. It was too early in the morning to deal with stupid apes like this guy. "You going to let me in so I can work today or what?"

Still blinking like he was trying to figure out what had happened, the ape stepped to the side, revealing the kitchen.

There were two women probably in their late fifties or early sixties working at the counter in the middle of the room. They looked up when he entered, and Sean realized they had the same face – twins. One's face was soft and sweet and smiling, though, and the other one's was sharp and lined.

The sharp one spoke. "Morris, get the hell out of that boy's way and back to work. I don't care if your uncle's your supervisor, I sign your paycheck. Don't make me decide not to do that this week."

Scowling, the ape headed over to the four-basin sink attached to the wall.

Sean grinned at the women. He already liked them.

"You Sean?" the sharp one called.

He nodded.

"I'm Susan, this is Lucy." She nodded at the other woman.

Lucy smiled. "Welcome to the staff. If you have any problems, just let us know, okay? We're the owners and managers."

"Yeah." Sean looked around.

Susan scowled. "Your dumbass supervisor pulled his back getting out of bed this morning – it's no wonder with all that lard he totes around – "

"Susan!" Lucy hissed.

"So Del'll have to train you," Susan continued. She nodded towards the swinging door. "She's out on the floor."

Del was rolling silverware up in napkins when he walked up to her. She nodded at him. "The smartass."

There was no one looking hire him today, so he just went with his instincts when he replied. "The bitch."

She lifted her chin slightly, then shrugged. "Fair enough, I suppose. C'mon, I'll show you where to sign in and get an apron."

The morning went quickly. Del showed him how to set tables, how much ice to put in the customers' glasses for the rare morning soda drinkers (as much as possible, since ice was far cheaper than soda), and explained how to split tips with the wait staff. She didn't make a lot of chitchat, just kept her directions to the point.

Around 10:30, after the morning rush slowed down, she came over to where Sean was emptying the half-full orange juice glasses he'd just cleared down the sink. "I'm going to take a cig break," she said. She untied her apron and hung it on a hook near the door. "You smoke?"

He nodded and followed her out the back door. They stood in silence for a few minutes, leaning against the brick wall near the Dumpsters.

"Not the best ambiance ever, huh?" Del eventually said, waving her cigarette at the brimming garbage containers.

Sean shrugged.

"At the diner I worked at before this one, everyone smoked," Del said. "There was one counter in the kitchen all lined with ashtrays, and everyone just kept a cigarette burning all through their shift and grabbed a drag or two when they came back to the kitchen between trips out to the floor." She flicked her ash. "Suze and Luce are a little more conscious of the health codes. What about you? Where'd you work last?"

"Another diner. Different town."

The side of her mouth raised in a half-smile. "Mush said you were kind of secretive about your past."

"Yeah?" Sean blew out a stream of smoke. "What's with you and Mush? And you and Blink?"

The half-smile dropped. "It's complicated."

Sean smirked. "Isn't it always."

She glared at him. "It's also none of your business."

"Feels different when you're the one answering all the questions, doesn't it?" Sean said, dropping his cigarette and grinding it out with his Converse-covered foot – which did hurt, damn Tony anyway.

She nodded. "Point for you." She crushed her cigarette butt. "Look, you did pretty well today. Don't worry about Weasel; he really can't do much to you if the twins – Susan and Lucy – like you. Watch out for Morris though, and his brother Oscar. They'll do whatever they can to make your life miserable. You have any problems, talk to me, or Tony, or the twins." She turned and pulled on the door, which she'd left cracked just enough so it wouldn't latch and could be opened from the outside.

"You can go home," Del said when Sean followed her inside. "Your shift's almost over, and we're at the lull between breakfast and lunch. We'll be fine."

Sean nodded. "All right. Um… thanks, I guess."

She glanced at him, looking as if she hadn't really expected any thanks. "Sure."

"I mean for the advice and stuff, too," Sean said uncomfortably.

Her lips twitched. "Yeah, I got that. See you tomorrow."

Susan was watching them. When Del headed back out onto the floor, she raised an eyebrow at Sean. "You like her?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Whatever." He took a sip from the water bottle he'd left sitting on the ledge next to the back door. There was a collection of other drinks from the other busboys, waiters and waitresses, dishwashers, and cooks: an iced tea, two other water bottles, several coffees, and a whole slew of sodas, the caffeinated, the better. This diner's version of the ashtray-buffet Del had described, he supposed.

Susan brushed the flour off her hands and handed a pie pan to Lucy. "Not whatever. You going to screw her?"

Lucy groaned. Sean nearly spit the water out. "Uh. I wasn't planning on it."

She nodded. "Just wondering. You seem like a nice enough boy – Tony said you were, at least – but I like to know what's going on between the members of my staff."

"Our staff," Lucy said pointedly.

"Our staff," Susan said, rolling her eyes.

"Um. I'll keep you posted on that," Sean said, hurriedly untying his apron and leaving the restaurant before he could give into the temptation to ask what exactly Tony had said about him.

**

* * *

AN: And to make up for my lack of updating due to camp and broken finger-related issues, here's another chapter already! I know you're all amazed.**

On the downside, ugh, transitional chapter. To be honest, I really was not a fan of this chapter while writing it – despite numerous revisions – but it had to be done. The good news is that next chapter, things start to pick up a bit plot-wise, and the unresolved sexual tension between Sean and Race is further explored…

For those who are wondering (and even those who aren't), I'm not setting this at any particular school; in my mind, "USU" stands for United States University, meaning it could happen at any college across the U.S. Just don't pay any attention to the fact that USU is actually short for Utah State – oops.

Love as usual to my betas (Shannon, B, Amanda, and Purple Rhapsody) and my reviewers.


	6. Behind Blue Eyes, Ch 6

**Disclaimer:** They're not mine.

**Warning:** Very minor character death. I really don't think it'll bother anyone, but in case it does, you've been warned.

**Chapter Six**

It was one of the lovely Indian Summer days that the school was occasionally graced with during the fall, a kind of last hurrah for the warm weather before the months of cold and snow took over. Most of the leaves were down from the trees, but hadn't yet changed from bright red and orange to dry, dead brown. Race looked around at the group of friends gathered on the lawn. They were forming the kind of idyllic tableau that could have been photographed and put into a recruitment brochure for the university. Race chuckled to himself wryly – their group of friends was even sufficiently racially diverse to appeal to the PR people; the only thing missing was someone physically disabled. Too bad Crutchy couldn't be with them anymore to fill in that quota, Race thought, his smile fading.

A few feet away, Blink was seated on a blanket spread on the fallen leaves, playing the guitar balanced in his lap. He softly picked out what sounded like a ballad – it might have been something by Simon and Garfunkel – while Skittery lay on the grass beside him, eyes closed, singing in surprisingly sweet harmony with Gabby. Mush, Jack, Del, Bumlets, and Swifty were playing Frisbee a few feet away. They had actually worked up enough of a sweat that Swifty had taken off his shoes and was playing barefoot, Jack had opened the front of his gaudy Hawaiian-print shirt almost down to his navel, and Bumlets had shed his USU sweatshirt and was playing in a white wifebeater. And Mush – Mush had taken off his shirt completely. Race could honestly say that he had no desire to be in a romantic or sexual relationship of any kind with Mush, but he thoroughly appreciated his sweet-natured friend's sculpted upper body.

"He's like a walking wet dream, isn't he?" asked Dutchy. He was lying near Race, his head in Spec's lap, clearly watching Mush as well.

Race glanced at Specs, who just smiled serenely and threaded his fingers through his boyfriend's hair.

"I won't argue with that," Race said. "Even straight guys have got to be able to see how, um, well put together he is." He ogled for a few seconds more, then returned to the textbook he'd brought outside with him.

A few feet away, Sarah and Teensy were also being good little students, drilling each other with flashcards – though they too stopped occasionally to let their eyes follow the Frisbee players. Teensy had blue hair today.

He had just leaned back in the warm sun and closed his eyes when David jogged up.

"Guys, you're not going to believe this," he said. He paused, probably for dramatic emphasis, and the Frisbee flew into his head. "Ow!"

"Hey!" Jack said, glaring at Bumlets.

Bumlets held up his hands defensively. "Sorry! I didn't realize you weren't paying attention anymore."

"Of course he's not paying attention," Race said under his breath. "David's here."

Sarah looked sharply at him, and he shrugged and looked away. "All right, Dave, what is it?"

Still holding the side of his head, David spoke. "We just got the news release at the paper – four of the five professors who were up for tenure this year didn't get it."

No one spoke, looking around at each other uncomfortably. Finally, Del sighed. "No one knows what the hell you're talking about or why it's important, Dave."

David rolled his eyes. "Professors get jobs at universities, teach and publish for several years, and then, after a certain amount of time passes, have to apply for tenure. Tenure means they get all sorts of benefits and more money and are pretty much guaranteed their job for life even if they screw up or stop caring about their classes." He paused. "Obviously, there's good points and bad points about it. But the idea is, if a professor is denied tenure, they have a one year grace period in which to find a new job. They're done at that university."

"Okay…" said Jack slowly. "So they go to a new school and try again?"

David shook his head. "Supposedly, but everyone knows it's pretty much impossible. No school would hire someone who's been denied tenure."

"How do they decide if the prof gets tenure or not?" Blink asked.

"They review class evaluations, resumes, the amount of classes they've taught and any innovative teaching practices they've tried, their syllabi, what they've published – you get the idea."

Mush frowned. "So these four professors didn't meet the standards."

But David shook his head again. "Guys, I've had some of these profs, and they were great."

"Who are they?" Race asked.

David glanced down at the piece of paper he was holding in his hand. "Johnson, from Theatre. Mentinger, from Philosophy. Karole, from History. And Denton, from English."

Race frowned, and, glancing around, saw that several of his friends were doing the same. "I've had Denton," he said. "I took my English requirements with him. He was really good."

David nodded. "I had him twice, and loved both of the classes. He was a great instructor, and I know I said so on my class eval."

Specs spoke up. "And I've had both Mentinger and Karole, and I thought both were good – way better than some of the other profs in those departments."

Dutchy and Skittery both nodded. "Yeah," said Skittery. "They were actually energetic when I had them. They seemed like they wanted to be there."

David glanced at the list. "And Johnson, from Theatre? Mush?" He turned to look at the group's resident theatre major. "What's he like?"

Mush looked absolutely crushed. "She," he corrected. "She was… God, incredible. She can teach theatre and music, and she has this incredible range."

"Oh yeah," Bumlets said. "She helped direct the musical last spring, right?" He turned to look at David. "She's really good. He's not exaggerating."

Jack glanced around the crowd. "Well, I've never had any of them," he said, "but it sure sounds like you guys liked them. And if they decide tenure based on student class evals, how did this happen?"

David scowled. "Pulitzer's not talking yet. And the committee will only say that their decisions were influenced by many factors."

Glum silence settled over the group. "Well, it sucks," Race finally concluded. "But what are we going to do about it?"

David shrugged. "I guess we'll see if there's any backlash once the story's public – it'll be in this week's issue of the school newspaper. Hopefully my damn opinion editor will get some editorials written on it – you know, if he decides to do his fucking job."

"Oooh," Race and Del chorused. "Davey swore!"

"Don't get me started." He glared.

"C'mon," Blink said, slinging an arm around Mush's shoulders. "Let's all go get some food and beer and head back to our apartment."

Del snorted. "Original," she muttered just loudly enough for Race to hear.

Mush sighed. "You're damn lucky you play baseball. Otherwise you'd weigh three hundred pounds." He headed off the green.

Race started to follow. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Jack blink and shake his head, as if pulling himself out of deep thought.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sean rolled over in bed, eyes closed. He could hear a phone ringing from a great distance, and then Tony's voice murmuring. He wasn't sure how much time passed before he cracked an eye open and peered at the clock, but the room was silent again. 5:45 a.m.

Groaning, he looked over the edge of his bunk. Tony was sitting in his desk chair, dressed only in his boxers, staring blankly out the window. He'd been quiet last night (that wasn't terribly unusual) and kind of mopey-looking (that was) after he'd gotten back from Blink and Mush's apartment. Sean wondered if the blank stare was because of whatever had been bothering him last night, or because of the phone call.

"Jesus, Tony, don't you ever sleep?" he said, voice morning-thick.

Tony didn't answer.

"Was that the phone?" Sean asked.

Tony nodded. "Yeah. It was – it was for me."

Sean blinked, trying to clear his vision. Tony didn't say anything else. Sean had just about decided to roll over and go back to sleep when he caught sight of Tony's face; he wasn't crying, but his face looked absolutely beaten.

"Tony?" There was no answer. Sean sat up in bed and swung his legs over the edge. "Who was calling you at five in the morning?"

"Crutchy – my old roommate, before you came here – it was his mom."

Sean slid down to the ground and stood next to Tony. "And?"

"He died." Tony's voice was both sorrowful and resigned.

"I – uh, I'm sorry." He had no idea what to do; his only experience with death was anger and violence and thick red blood spattering – he blocked out the memory. Hoping it was the right thing to do, he tentatively put his hand on Tony's shoulder.

Tony shrugged. "Yeah. Well – yeah."

The bare skin under Sean's hand was like ice. He went to his closet wordlessly and pulled out a plain charcoal grey hoodie, then returned to where Tony sat and dropped it in his lap. "Put it on," he said when Tony glanced up. "You're freezing."

"I need to go tell Dave and Jack, and Blink and Mush and everyone."

"You can't do it in just your boxers, so put the sweatshirt on." When Tony followed his order wordlessly, Sean turned away and began hunting for a pair of Tony's jeans. He found a pair that looked reasonably clean on the floor of Tony's closet, and handed them to him along with a belt, socks, and sneakers. Tony obediently began to dress, and Sean quickly threw on a pair of his own jeans and a T-shirt and grabbed his jean jacket. He grabbed both his set of keys and Tony's from their dresser tops.

Tony was staring at him.

"I'll come with you," Sean said, answering his unasked question.

"You don't need to baby-sit me," Tony said in an ironic echo of Sean's statement from the first day they met.

"Yeah, I do." When Tony continued to stare at him, Sean barely resisted rolling his eyes. "C'mon, you look like shit. You're not driving anywhere like that. So let's go."

They made their way down the three flights of stairs to Jack and David's floor in silence. When Tony tapped on their door, Sean stayed just behind him.

David opened the door, blinking sleepily. "Race? Sean? What the hell? It's like 6:00 a.m." He rubbed his eyes. "God, I just finished layout like an hour ago. I had to do the entire opinion section with all that stuff on Pulitzer…" His voice trailed off as he yawned.

"I know, Davey," Tony said. "I've gotta talk to you and Jack. Let's get him up."

David stared, then stepped back wordlessly, letting the two young men in the room. He already was expecting bad news, Sean guessed. He might even know, somewhere inside him. David gestured for Tony and Sean to sit on the futon, then went to the bottom bunk and shook Jack's shoulder gently.

"Mmph? Get away from me. What'sa matter wit'you?" Jack mumbled.

"Wake up, Jack. Race needs to talk to us," David said lowly.

It took a few more shakes, but eventually Jack sat up in bed, rubbing at his eyes and scraping his hands through his hair. "What's going on?"

Tony took a deep breath. Sean could see the tension in his shoulders, the worry lines etched around his mouth. "Crutchy's mom just called me," he began.

There was a soft breath, not a sigh but not quite a gasp either, from where David was sitting perched on the edge of his desk. Jack stared stone-faced at Tony.

"He's gone," Tony said gently. "It happened yesterday around 5:00."

"Was he back in the hospital?" David asked.

"Yeah, he had been for a couple of weeks," Tony said.

"A couple of weeks? Why the hell didn't they tell us?" Jack demanded.

"Apparently he was uncommunicative pretty much the whole time. They figured we shouldn't be dragging out a bedside scene or depressing ourselves for weeks waiting for him to die," Tony said, sounding bitter.

"I wish they'd've let us decide that," David spat. Sean had never seen David get upset before, but now his face was flushed and his eyes dark.

"Well, they didn't," Tony said shortly.

"Damn it," Jack said. "Goddamn it. God fucking damn it all!"

David immediately went to sit on the bed alongside Jack and put his arm around him. He rubbed Jack's back as Jack bent over, elbows on his knees, and buried his face in his hands.

"The wake's tomorrow night. The funeral's Thursday, in Centerville, at noon. His parents want us and Blink and Mush and Specs and Dutchy to be pallbearers with his brother," Tony recited in a monotone. His face was pinched and pale.

David nodded, his eyes on Jack.

Tony stood. "I'll call later." He made his way out of the room, Sean trailing him. When they got downstairs and went out to the parking lot, he fished out Tony's keys and unlocked the ancient red Jetta's doors.

"I can drive," Tony said.

"No, you can't," Sean answered. When Tony stared at him, he shoved his shoulder a little bit before walking around to the driver's side. "Just get in the fucking car, Tony."

He drove to Mush and Blink's apartment, where Mush reacted to the news with heaving dry sobs. They left Blink comforting him and went down the hall to Specs and Dutchy's apartment, where Dutchy reacted in turn by retching and immediately throwing up the breakfast he had just started eating in the kitchen garbage can. Then it was back to campus, where they went to Halverson and broke the news to Sarah, Gabby, Teensy, and Del. At each stop, the lines around Tony's mouth got deeper, his skin paler, the circles under his eyes darker. When he stood to leave the girls to their mourning, Sean took his elbow.

"That's it," he said. "We're going home now."

Tony shook off his hand. "No – I need to tell Bumlets and Skittery and – "

Sean looked around the room. "Yo, Gabby."

She looked at him in surprise and Sean realized he'd probably never spoken to her before. But she said, "Yeah?" willingly enough.

"Can you call your brother and tell him? Ask him to pass the word?"

She nodded. "Sure."

"Thanks." He took Tony's arm again and led him out of the room.

"Why did you do that?" Tony grumbled when they got into the hall. "I could've told them."

"No, you couldn't have," Sean said. God, he needed a cigarette. He tried to figure out how to express that a person could only be expected to give the same bad news so many times, and finally ended up muttering, "You've done your share." He got Tony back to their dorm, up the stairs, and into their room.

Wordlessly, Tony began sticking notebooks and pens in his backpack, then zipped it up and slung it over his shoulder.

"Where're you going?" Sean finally asked.

"Class," Tony said shortly. "I have an 8:00 today."

Sean hesitated, and when he didn't hand over the car keys, Tony scowled at him. "I'll walk." He stormed out.

Sean shrugged and settled in with his laptop for a long day of waiting – he was going to be here when Tony got back, whenever that happened to be. He'd miss a few classes, but that rarely bothered him anyway. Besides, Isaacson's class would be dull without Jack.

Tony strolled back in at 8:00 that evening. His eyes were dark, scorched holes in the middle of his pale, pale face as he flopped down on the edge of his bed and stared out the window. After almost forty-five minutes of mutual silence, he finally said, "Jack's not going to take this well. He and Crutchy were close, he – he always tried to look out for him."

Sean shifted in his desk chair to study Tony more closely. He looked as though he hadn't slept in weeks – which very well might have been true. "David will take care of him. Just like Blink will take care of Mush, and Specs'll take care of Dutchy, and the girls will take care of each other." Neither of them said a word about who would take care of Tony.

"Gimme a cigarette," Tony said.

Sean stared at him. "I thought you didn't smoke. I thought you hated smoking."

"I quit about two years ago, okay? I need one now."

Sean fished out his crushed pack of Camels and offered it to Tony, then tossed him a book of matches with the school's logo on the cover. His lighter had dried up a few days ago and he hadn't made it to the gas station yet to pick up a new one; he'd lifted the matches from a Catering Services cart in the LDR.

Tony lit his cigarette and blew out a stream of smoke with the comfortable ease of someone who had indeed once been a smoker. Sean lit a cigarette of his own and the two smoked in silence.

"Do you need anything?" Sean offered, finally breaking the silence. "Something to eat or drink or anything? I can go over to the LDR and get you something."

"Stop it!" Tony shouted. He stood. "Just stop it, okay? I can't take this right now – why are you being so nice to me?"

"Well, Jesus, Tony, I don't know. Maybe because your friend just died? I mean, I know I'm an asshole, but I'm not so bad that I'll mess with a guy when he's lost a friend." Sean struggled to keep his voice level though he could feel his temper rising.

"Well, knock it off!" Tony yelled. He grabbed an empty mug off his desk and turning, hurled it at the wall. "I just want everything to be normal! I want you to be a jerk and Crutchy to be alive and – " his voice broke and he sagged onto the edge of his bed again, staring at the shards of mug now sticking out of the rug.

"Sorry, but that's not going to happen," Sean said quietly. He stood and took the cigarette butt from Tony's limp fingers, tossed it with his own into the sink, then made his way over to the bed and sat beside Tony. "Lay down," he said.

Tony stared at him. "What?"

"Look, just do it, okay? Lay on your stomach."

Still looking incredulous, Tony obeyed. Sean knelt up on the bed next to him and began to knead his shoulders. He couldn't help but notice the taut strength of the muscles under his palms.

"Mmph – what are you – " Tony mumbled into the bedspread.

"Ssh, just relax," Sean said softly, then winced. He hadn't meant to be so – to sound so… tender?

Tony didn't seem to notice, though. He let Sean continue without protest, and after a few minutes, his shoulders began to move with slow, even breaths, and Sean stopped rubbing his back. Tony's head was turned to one side, allowing Sean to see half of his face, and for one self-indulgent moment, Sean stroked the dark glossy hair back from his damp forehead. Then he reached up and yanked the blanket off his own bed, pulled it up over their bodies, curled into Tony's side, and slept.

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Jack was lying in bed, too, watching the moonlight drift across the ceiling. Sarah and Teensy had some lace curtainy-things across their windows, patterning the blank white ceiling with textures and shadows and dots of brightness. Sandwiched between his side and the wall on a sliver of bed, Sarah lay awake as well. Her hand was tracing the tattoo of a horseshoe on his hip.

"I can't believe it," she murmured after a while.

He shrugged a little. "Well, you better. They never lie about shit like this." He too felt the shock, but was determined not to build any illusions for himself. He'd spent the day in a trance, and as soon as he'd finished dinner, he'd headed for Sarah's dorm suite. Teensy was out, and they'd shut the connecting door into Gabby and Del's room and promptly engaged in hard, sweaty sex. There was something about a death that just made you want to remind yourself that you were alive.

There'd been very little giving in their quick coupling, and though they'd both taken and enjoyed, Jack suddenly felt guilty. "Sarah, I – I mean, the way we do this, um, does it, does it bother you?"

She gave him a half-smile. "We do it well enough," she said.

He got the feeling she was deliberately misunderstanding him. "That's not what I meant."

"I know." She rolled so she was on her stomach, half on the mattress, half on top of him. "Jack, it's okay. I know we're not getting married and staying together for ever and ever. I didn't get into this with you for a white picket fence and two-point-five children."

He wanted to ask why, then, she had gotten into it; he just nodded instead. She leaned forward and kissed his shoulder, but while there was affection in the kiss, there was no love.

He sat up. "I'm gonna go."

She looked at him in surprise. "You sure?" He usually stayed the night after they messed around; Teensy didn't mind as long as they put some clothes on before she got back to the room. But he felt like he needed something more tonight. A cuddle with someone who liked him and fucked him but didn't love him just wasn't enough to fill the aching loneliness that was growing inside him, making his stomach clench like he hadn't eaten in days.

"Yeah." He bent down and kissed her forehead, then left.

USU was conveniently arranged with all the dorms grouped together in a lopsided horseshoe around the north end of the campus; even so, the walk from Halverson to Hearst was unpleasant. The wind was picking up, and there was a distinct and biting edge to it. It whistled around the edges of the dorms as they sat, exposed, on the top of a hill. It whistled around Jack's ears as well, and he trudged along with his head down, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

David was still awake when Jack came into their room, and Jack glanced at his watch, surprised to discover that it was only 10:00. He was sitting on Jack's bed with a copy of _The Scarlet Letter_ open in his lap, but he was gazing blankly at the wall instead of at the pages. When Jack, shivering, stripped off his coat and settled on the edge of the bed next to him, Dave handed him a blanket. They sat in silence, shoulders pressed together, and as Jack felt some of David's body heat seep into his body, warming him, he felt the muscles in his stomach relax, too. He let out a long sigh, a girly action he would have been ashamed of if anyone but Dave had been in the room with him, and David slid an arm around his shoulders. He desperately wanted a drink, but he wanted the comfort Dave was giving him more, so he just leaned into his best friend's side and listened to his heart beat.

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Blink and Mush and Dutchy and Specs were draped across the mismatched furniture in Blink and Mush's living room, also sitting in silence.

"It's just not right," Dutchy finally said. He picked up his beer, but a fine tremor in his hands made it hard to hold the bottle to his lips. Specs finally wrapped his hand around Dutchy's, steadying the bottle enough for him to drink.

Blink watched the pair and felt something long and painful pull in his stomach. He'd never felt so alone.

"It's never right," Mush sighed.

Dutchy nodded silently, staring into his lap. Specs slipped an arm around him and pulled him gently against his side. "It's the shock that's making it seem so bad," he said. He brushed Dutchy's long blonde bangs out of his eyes. "I can't believe they didn't tell us how sick he was."

Mush stood. "I'm getting more beer. We need to be drunk."

The others exchanged looks. Mush wasn't a big drinker – like Race, he usually kept his indulging to two or three drinks. "Are you sure that's a good idea?" Blink asked cautiously when Mush reappeared, his arms loaded with bottles.

"Um, yes," Mush said. "Our friend just died, and we didn't even know how sick he was. In two days we're going to have to be pallbearers at his funeral. I think getting drunk is an excellent idea." He settled on the floor by Blink's feet, leaning back against his legs, and held a beer out to Blink, who shrugged and took it.

Mush drained his bottle in a matter of minutes and reached for another. "Mush," Blink said hesitantly.

Mush turned those deep dark wounded eyes up at him. "I don't want to feel right now, Blink," he said. "Tomorrow I'll go back to behaving responsibly and making sure everyone else is okay. But tonight I just don't want to feel, okay?"

Blink patted his shoulder. "All right. But look, if we're going to do this, let's do it right, huh?"

Specs squinted at him. "Huh?"

"Let's have a good old fashioned wake for Crutchy, right here and now. Let's get drunk and tell all our best stories about him and laugh and remember him like that, okay?"

Mush nodded, then gave Blink that slow, sweet smile that made girls _and_ boys on campus melt. He held his bottle up. "To Crutchy."

The other boys raised their bottles. "To Crutchy."

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Race woke slowly, his mind and body heavy with sleep. He peered at the clock on the desk and blinked in surprise. He had come back to the room around what, 8:00, 9:00 p.m.? It was now after 1:00 a.m. He'd slept for four or five hours and hadn't woken once. The last time that had happened had been – no, he actually couldn't remember the last time that happened.

He became aware of how warm the bed was, and realized with a start that Sean was sleeping next to him. One arm was thrown over his hips, the hand spread possessively across Race's back. Who would have guessed it? Sean Conlon was a cuddler.

He felt Sean stirring and immediately shut his eyes again, pretending to be asleep. The cheap dorm room mattress sagged a little as Sean sat up. There was a long pause during which Sean didn't move, and Race finally slitted his eyelids and peered out from between his lashes. Sean was just sitting still, watching Race with a very odd look on his face. Eventually, he mumbled something that sounded like, "Shit," and slipped out of the bed.

When Race got out of bed about fifteen minutes later, Sean was lying in his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Race headed for his laptop. Neither of them mentioned Race's outburst of emotion, Sean's gentle back rub, or the way Sean had curled around Race in sleep.

**AN:** Aw, sad chapter. I feel okay killing Crutchy off, though, because he's not a key character in this story. Plus, I'm not really a Crutchy fan. And there was a little foreshadowing of the upcoming SpRace action!


	7. Behind Blue Eyes, Ch 7

**Chapter Seven**

When Sean came home from his evening class the next night, Tony wasn't in the room. He frowned. Before he even had time to wonder, though, the phone rang. To his absolute shock, the ring pattern was his.

"Yeah," he said, answering it.

"Sean?"

"Yeah."

"This is David. Look, I'm just leaving one of the bars downtown with Jack. He's pretty trashed."

Sean's frown deepened. And he should care about this because… "Okay," he said, restraining himself a bit.

"He and Tony were drinking together. I can't handle both of them – I'm on foot right now – and Jack was drunker, so I got him out of the – whoa, Jack! Come on, try to stand up… good job. Now just hold still for a minute while I finish talking to Sean."

"David?"

"Yeah, sorry. Jack's having some trouble staying upright. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is Tony needs someone to come collect him and take him home. He drove to the bar, but he definitely shouldn't be driving back." There was a retching sound from the background. "Oh, Jack… yeah, aim for the bushes."

Sean sighed. "What bar?"

He hadn't been expecting to spend his night walking downtown to collect Tony from some bar – but then he'd expected very little of what had happened in the last few weeks. First the moment of weakness at David's birthday dinner, then those few stolen hours in bed together yesterday. Tony'd looked frighteningly young and innocent as he slept. Sean sighed as he spotted Tony's car in the bar parking lot. Well, he certainly wasn't being young and innocent now.

He headed into the bar, flashing his ID at the bored-looking bouncer and scanning the bar and the dance floor. Tony was at neither, so Sean began a tour of the room, checking the postage stamp-sized round tables scattered everywhere. He finally found Tony seated with three burly guys each nearly twice his size in the far corner of the dark, smoky room. There were cards out in front of them, and the pile of bills and coins in the middle of the table made it obvious that these guys weren't just playing for fun.

Sean watched silently from behind Tony as two of the men folded and the third laid his hand out on the sticky table and, grinning, said, "Ace high straight."

Tony calmly set out his cards, and the other man's face fell. "Full house," Tony narrated unnecessarily. "Queens over tens." He smirked as he drew the pot towards himself.

And that right there, Sean thought, was proof that Tony was a little tipsy. Not _drunk_, but he'd had enough to drink that his usually unbreakable poker face was slipping a bit. The other men at the table looked none too happy about it, either.

Sean put a hand on his shoulder. "Let's go."

Tony frowned up at him. "Sean? What the hell are you doing here?"

One of the men sitting at the table scowled. "Hey, shrimp. Tell your girlfriend to get lost so we can settle this. You owe us."

Tony frowned. "What do I owe you?"

"Blood," the burliest guy grunted.

"Christ," Sean said under his breath, irritated. The last thing he needed to deal with tonight was a couple of assholes who thought they were in a John Wayne movie.

The player who'd just lost gave Tony an oily grin. "No one wins as much as you just did. It goes against those what do you call 'ems..."

"Statistical odds?" Tony suggested, and Sean tried not to groan.

"Right." The guy nodded. "So, figures you must have been cheating. And that means we get to take back everything we lost to you."

"Out of your skin," the biggest guy said lowly.

Sean raised an eyebrow. "You really think _this_ guy has enough skin to take it all out of?"

"Hey!" Tony protested.

The men glanced at each other.

Sean calmly took a cigarette from someone's pack on the table and lit up. "Besides," he said, blowing out a stream of smoke, "the bar's packed and that bouncer over there looks pretty restless. I'm willing to bet that as soon as you touch him, my friend here is going to scream." He took another drag. "Probably like a girl."

"Hey, stop helping me already," Tony said, glaring.

"So we're going to be going now." He grabbed Tony by the back of his shirt and hauled him up, scooping the winnings up off the table and stuffing them in his pockets. "Buy yourselves drinks and find someone dumber to play with." He tossed a couple of twenties down on the table.

The ringleader hesitated, then leaned forward menacingly and said, "Get lost."

Sean waited until he had turned to roll his eyes. "Small-town amateurs," he muttered.

"You know, I'm really not drunk," Tony said as Sean dragged him towards the door.

"I know," Sean said. "But you're buzzed enough that you're being reckless. Those guys were going to take you apart if you won one more hand."

"I was fully aware of that," Tony said, staring fiercely at the floor.

"So what, then?" Sean asked. "You really wanted to get your ass kicked tonight?"

Tony frowned. "I wouldn't have gotten my ass kicked. I could have taken them one at a time, easy, and even if they ganged up on me, I would have made it pretty damn hard for them."

Sean glanced at Tony's muscular shoulders, briefly recalled how whipcord tight they had felt under his hands the other evening, and shrugged. Somehow he didn't doubt that Tony would be more than competent in a fight. "All right, maybe you would have. But do you really want to get all busted up tonight?" He dragged Tony out the door into the parking lot.

"Yes," Tony said, but it was spoken sulkily, like a petulant child who knows he's misbehaved and is going to be punished for it.

"No," Sean replied. "You're just looking for something to make you forget about Crutchy." He flicked the end of his cigarette into a puddle, then held out a hand to Tony. "Gimme the keys."

For the second time that week, Tony turned the keys to his car over to Sean – at least tonight he was smart enough not to protest. He did protest, however, when Sean pulled out of the bar parking lot. "You're going the wrong way. The dorm's back in the other direction."

"No shit."

"Then… why are we going this way?"

Sean sighed as he flipped on his blinker, but for the second time in two days, refrained from rolling his eyes. That was pretty good for him. "Look, you need something to distract you, right?" A multiplex loomed in front of the car. "So, we'll do something to distract you that's actually not angst-ridden or legally classified as a vice."

"We're going to a movie?" Tony said disbelievingly.

Sean climbed out of the car wordlessly and stood and frowned at Tony until he followed suit. At the ticket counter he briefly glanced at the listings. "Two for _Attractive Lies_," he said, digging a twenty out of his pocket and sliding across the counter.

Tony was staring at him. "Are you shitting me?"

Sean accepted the ticket stubs and, directed by the theatre usher, began heading towards Theatre 13 on the left.

"You do realize that this is a romantic comedy, right?" Tony said. "I mean, it's like Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan meeting cute somewhere and then spending the whole movie trying to admit what's been painfully obvious to the audience from the very beginning." He groaned. "Isn't this type of movie too happy for you?"

"Not when it's free," Sean said. "Very generous of you to use your winnings from tonight to pay, Tony." He smirked.

Tony glared.

"Careful," Sean said. "Keep making that face and people will think I'm rubbing off on you." He checked the number on his ticket stub, then pointed. "That's our theatre. Thirteen." They entered the theatre and Sean grinned. It was empty.

"Why are we the only ones here?" Tony whispered.

"Why are you whispering?" Sean whispered back. "We're the only ones here because we're going to a movie the appeals largely to early teenage teenyboppers and middle-aged housewives, neither of which are usually out at the movies at 9:50 on a Wednesday night." He chose seats in the middle of the theatre and sat.

"You mean you did this on purpose?" Tony asked.

Sean shrugged. "The best part of being in the theatre alone is being able to heckle the actors. Being able to take off your shoes and do this – " he put his feet on the back of the seat in front of him " – is another benefit."

Tony was staring, not at him but at the grey toes of the wrinkled athletic socks that covered his feet. "It's kind of weird when you act like a normal human being," he finally said.

The lights dimmed before Sean could answer, and he settled back in his seat comfortably. Commercials for Pepsi, then about three different car companies, and then a cell phone carrier were shown.

Beside him, Tony snorted. "I don't know who thought it was a good idea to start having commercials before movies, but they oughta be shot."

"Agreed," Sean said, watching as "Settle back for our previews of coming attractions" flashed across the screen.

"Previews, on the other hand," Tony began.

Sean nodded. "Sometimes better than the movie."

"That seems very likely in this case."

Sean found himself smiling as he nodded his agreement. And over the next two hours, he caught the smile creeping across his face more than once as he and Tony criticized the movie's unlikely and exceptionally saccharine plot, provided alternate dialogue, and generally made nuisances of themselves – or would have, if there was anyone else in the theatre to be annoyed.

When the credits began to roll across the screen, Tony sighed. "I think I'm going to go into diabetic shock from the sweetness overload."

Sean smiled – again, dammit – and shifted comfortably against Tony's side. Somehow they'd both ended up leaning in towards the armrest between them, leaving their shoulders pressed up against each other and their arms brushing. He could feel Tony's normally icy skin warm against his forearm.

It was making him reluctant to break the spell by getting up and leaving.

Eventually the ushers came inside to clean up and politely shooed them out. They were silent as they made their way out of the theatre and to the exit doors. As soon as they stepped outside, Sean drew out a cigarette and lit up.

Tony glanced at him, frowned, and opened his mouth, obviously to protest – then closed it and looked away.

He was going to let the smoking slide this time, Sean realized. He took a long, satisfying drag. As thank yous went, it wasn't a bad one.

* * *

The morning of Crutchy's funeral was drizzly and grey. Race woke from a fitful sleep already chilled to his bones, and nearly moaned when his feet touched the freezing floor. It was that time of the year – the time to start sleeping in socks.

To his complete surprise, Sean was up and getting dressed when Race came back from the bathroom.

"What are you doing up?" he asked. "It's Thursday – I thought you didn't have class until noon."

Sean didn't look at him. "Not going to class today." He fastened his belt buckle and pulled on a long-sleeved black shirt over his white wife-beater. Race blinked. He'd never seen Sean wear anything but his endless supply of raggedy band T-shirts and his Tibby's uniform.

"So, where are you going?" Race asked.

"To the funeral."

"Are you – " Race began, but Sean glanced up sharply, a familiar sneer on his face, and he let the question drop. The cautious friendliness of last night's movie seemed to be lost, yet Sean was neatly, if not nicely, dressed and ready to go when Race headed out of their dorm room, obviously serious about accompanying him. So when David and Jack looked at them questioningly when they came down to the lobby together, Race just shook his head almost imperceptibly and hoped they wouldn't press the matter. They must have gotten the message, because David launched into making sure everyone had rides, and Jack offered Sean a cigarette and stepped outside into the cool fog to smoke with him.

"Blink and Mush and Specs and Dutchy are taking Mush's car together, and the girls are riding together, and you and I and Jack – and Sean, I guess – are riding together, and Skittery and Bumlets are going with some of the people from their house," David rambled on.

"Stop worrying," Race said automatically when David paused for a breath. "Everyone has rides, and if they don't, they have our cell numbers. They can call us."

"Right. Right," David said. He glanced at his watch. "We should get going. The Mass is at ten, and we said we'd be there early to get set up for pallbearing. It's already after eight, and it takes an hour to get there."

"Davey. Can it," Jack said, coming back into the building reeking of smoke. He dropped an arm around David's shoulders and squeezed his upper arm a bit. David nodded and subsided into silence.

The group headed for Jack's truck. When they had pulled out onto the road, Race leaned forward between the two front seats. "Can you turn the heat up?" He could feel the chill in his bones.

David leaned toward the dials, but Jack batted his hand away. "It's too warm in here already," he said.

Race hunched his shoulders, trying to keep himself from shivering. Sean was sitting on the other side of the seat, leaning his head against his palm. For a moment, Race wished he could cuddle up next to Sean, absorb his body heat. He could remember how gloriously warm it had made him on the night of David's birthday dinner, that evening in bed a few nights ago, last night at the movie.

"Jacky-Boy, turn up the fucking heat," Sean said tonelessly, not looking at Race.

Jack glanced up into the rearview mirror, probably meeting Sean's eyes in the backseat. "All right," he relented, reaching for the dashboard. "For a while, at least."

Race felt his body relax slightly as the heat flooded the car. The warmth and the hum of the motor lulled him, and he dropped into a half-waking, half-dreaming state, his head tipped against the window, his eyes closed.

Most of the rest of their friends were already standing in the church lobby when Jack pulled into the last available parking space in the lot.

"Hey, guys," Blink said. His usual grin was absent from his face, and Mush, standing beside him, looked beaten. Both boys had dark rings under their eyes. For once, Race wouldn't be the only one who looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"We put our coats in the third pew," Mush said. "The girls and Skittery and Itey, Snoddy, Snitch, and Bumlets are sitting near them."

Race nodded and shrugged out of his jacket, ready to go drop it in the pew. But Sean held out a hand. "I'll take it."

Race gave him his coat, then watched him walk away, heading for the doors into the church.

"What's he doing here?" Specs asked, coming up behind Race. He didn't sound accusatory, just confused.

Race shrugged. "Where's Dutch?"

"Throwing up. Or he was – he's cleaning up now."

Race winced. Dutchy had what his mother would have called "a nervous temperament." He didn't handle stress well; Race was pretty sure he was on anti-depressants. Eventually Dutchy appeared, pale but clean. He stood beside his boyfriend with his head on Specs's shoulder. Race watched idly, then pulled his gaze away when he caught sight of the coffin being wheeled in behind the pair.

"I wish we could do something," Mush said suddenly.

"What do you mean, Mush?" Blink asked.

"I don't know. I feel like we ought to do something to show how important Crutchy was to us." Mush shrugged, looking miserable.

"We're here, Mush," David said gently. "That will mean a lot to his parents. It would mean a lot to Crutchy."

"I have an idea," Race said. He leaned forward and whispered to Jack, who nodded and turned to find the rest of the pallbearers just as Crutchy's brother, Thomas, came up behind Race. Thomas shook his hand and then hugged him, both somewhat awkwardly, followed in quick succession by Crutchy's mother and father.

"Thank you for being here, Tony," his mother whispered. "Some of the best years of Charlie's life were spent living with you." Her voice cracked.

Race patted her shoulder awkwardly, wishing he were anywhere but there.

"We're going to start soon," she finally murmured, then hurried off to join her husband. A few minutes later, the slow organ notes of the "Ave Maria" began, and Race stepped forward with the other boys to walk the coffin into the church. He tried not to imagine Crutchy's smiling face closed in the dark by the wood lid. He tried not to think about the few inches that separated his hand from his friend's dead body. He tried not to hear Crutchy's mother's sobs and sniffles behind them as they marched down the aisle.

But he did.

When they'd left the coffin in front of the altar, Race turned with his friends and headed for their empty pew. He settled in beside Sean and fell into the rhythm of the Mass, drilled into his head every Sunday as a child. Stand, sit, stand, sit, stand, kneel… When the Mass was over, he filed out of the pew with the other young men and lined up again next to the coffin. The other seven pallbearers waited, looking at him, and he spoke.

"Crutchy – Charlie – always told us he didn't want anybody carrying him ever," Race said clearly, loudly. He looked around the church, meeting Crutchy's parents' confused eyes, his friends' puzzled ones, all aching with loss. He felt his throat swell, and for a moment, worried that he wouldn't be able to finish what he had started. Then he caught Sean's calm, cool blue gaze, and it soothed his throat and he found he could speak again. He went on. "We knew he meant both physically and emotionally – he didn't want to be dependent on us. He wanted to be so independent, in fact, that it was hard to get him to let us just do nice stuff for him." He was vaguely aware that what he was saying wasn't exactly poetry, that perhaps Jack or David could have said it better, but didn't care. "So just this once, we want to show Charlie how much he meant to us, how much we wanted to be able to help him and be there for him. Just this once, we hope he won't mind us carrying him." He nodded to the other pallbearers.

The coffin had been wheeled into church on a little cart and had rested there throughout the whole Mass. But now the young men grasped the sides of coffin and lifted it, not to hip height, but all the way over their heads, as far as their arms would extend. The church became hushed. They held it there for three seconds, five seconds, ten seconds, then at Race's nod, lowered it to their shoulders and carried Crutchy out of church.

* * *

Sean flopped onto Tony's bunk, sighing. A funeral was not the most enjoyable way to spend your day. Most of Tony's friends had been a wreck to some degree or another, some stiff and pale and only letting a silent teardrop or two slip down their faces, others, like Teensy, giving in to actual sobs. Jack and David were both of the one or two silent teardrops variety, but Jack had spent the funeral with his arm protectively around David. Gabby and Bumlets had clearly been supporting each other, and Del, Mush, and Blink had sat in a row together in the pew, Blink leaning on Mush nearly as much as Del was. Specs and Dutchy had sat silently, tears streaming down their faces, gripping each other's hands. Dutchy was very pale, almost green, a shade that went hideously with his platinum blonde hair. There had been a lot of wailing from the front pews where Crutchy's family was sitting when the eight young men had wheeled the coffin in, and even more when they'd raised it to their shoulders to carry it out.

Sean stayed by Tony's side throughout the funeral and the lunch afterwards, watching him carefully. Tony hadn't cried at all, hadn't even teared up during the Mass, but had remained silent and composed, staring straight ahead stoically. Sean wondered if that meant he should be worried or relieved about Tony – but he had a pretty good idea that it was the former. Even now, with all the ceremony over, Tony still didn't seem to have let go; instead of coming back to their room and relaxing, he'd gone to Jack and David's to make sure they were both doing all right.

Sean had watched, stomach tightening, as several young men he didn't know – and young women, but he was less worried about them – hugged Tony tightly during the lunch. He'd tried not to think about how comfortably Tony fit into their arms, nor about how comfortably Tony had fit into his own arms a few evenings before.

He sighed, pushing the memory out of his mind, as he rolled over onto his stomach and dug around in the bottom drawer of the desk next to the bed. His fingers brushed the cool glass of the bottle he'd hidden there weeks ago, and he pulled it out along with a shot glass.

He needed to be drunk.

* * *

The first thing Race saw when he let himself into their dorm room – other than the closets, of course – was Sean sitting in one of their desk chairs, staring out the window, with an open bottle of vodka and a shot glass beside him.

"How're Jack and David?" Sean asked without turning towards him.

Race blinked. It was the first time he could think of that Sean had willingly asked about one of his friends, and had actually sounded concerned. "They're all right. Or they will be, eventually." He paused, looking at the bottle. "Um, Sean, you know this is a dry campus, right? I mean, that's why we go down to the apartments to drink…"

Sean snorted derisively, and Race smiled. That was closer to the Sean he knew, and comfortingly familiar on a day when he felt as if his whole world had tilted and become unsettled. Funerals and tears and Sean acting like a relatively compassionate human being – he wasn't sure what part of the last few days was most responsible for throwing him off balance.

"You're gay, right?" Sean asked.

Race's eyes widened. "Well, that was point-blank…are you drunk?"

Sean finally turned to look at him. "No. Drinking, but not drunk."

"What – what brought that up?"

Sean didn't answer, and the room was silent for a minute. Race thought about the heat of Sean's thigh against his under the table at David's birthday dinner, and about the comfortable weight of Sean's arm around his waist as they slept, and said nothing.

Sean turned back to the window. "How'd Crutchy die?"

Unsure whether he was disappointed or relieved by the sudden shift in conversation topics, Race walked over to his bed and sat, drawing his legs up protectively and resting his elbows on his knees. "Cancer. It was in his leg when he was a kid, and they took it off – God, he was only eight or nine – and they thought that had done it. He went into remission, learned to walk with a crutch and then a prosthetic leg and was fine for years." He picked at the little pills of fabric on the top of his worn blanket. "It came back last year." He thought about the spring semester: Crutchy's unusual fatigue – Christ, Race had fucking teased him about all the naps he'd started taking. "I don't sleep at all, and all you do is sleep," he'd said. Then came the day Crutchy'd nicked himself shaving and hadn't been able to stop the bleeding, and driving Crutchy to the hospital, and the doctor's tight face and Crutchy's shaking voice as he called his parents.

He cleared his throat, aware of Sean watching him intently. He'd never wished more that he was involved with someone; he _needed_ a pair of arms to hold him right now. "So, he decided not to come back to school this year, to try some intensive chemo and radiation. Obviously, it didn't work."

Sean nodded. Suddenly uncomfortable, Race studied his fingernails. He was trying to decide if he should ask again why Sean had asked about his sexuality when there was a tap on the door, soon followed by a voice calling, "Tony?" and a head poking around the corner of the closets. It was Jonathon Seitz, the dorm's resident director.

"Hey, Tony," he said, strolling into the room. "You had a package downstairs, so I thought I'd bring it up and see how you were doing." He dropped a cardboard box onto the bed beside Race.

Grateful for the distraction, Race pulled open the box, then groaned. "God, another care package from my mom."

"What's wrong with that?" Jon asked.

Race pulled out a small Bible and a plastic statue of the Virgin Mary. "My mother doesn't make cookies and send them to me," he said, digging around in the box and examining the rest of the packages – a rosary, a candle, a scapula. "She makes little packages of Catholic guilt and sends them to remind me that I'm going to hell." When Jon didn't respond, he glanced up.

Jon's eyes were glued on the vodka and shot glass still sitting on the desk.

"Oh shit," Race muttered.

"Whose alcohol is this?" Jon said lowly, turning toward Sean.

Sean shrugged.

"Well, it didn't just appear there on its own," Jon pointed out darkly. "Sean?"

It was clear that he thought the alcohol was Sean's doing. It was also clear that Sean was aware of this, and was fighting to keep from telling Jon where he could shove the bottle. Race winced.

"Sean, I won't have the rules broken in my dorm. This is a dry campus," Jon said. "I'm going to have to take you downstairs to my office and look at your record. If this is your first problem like this – here or on any other campus – you'll get a ticket. If it's not..."

Sean's familiar old sneer was back. He opened his mouth to respond.

"It's mine."

Sean and Jon both turned to Race with identical expressions of shock and amazement on their faces. Race blinked. Shit, had he just said that?

"Tony?" Jon said disbelievingly.

Race looked down, trying to seem humble and ashamed. All those years of poker playing made him a great actor, and he knew it. He could pull this off. "I'm sorry, Jon," he said. "I've never done this before. It was the stress from – well, you know." He lowered his voice. "Crutchy's funeral, and everything." He sighed. "And I knew it was wrong, but I just needed a little something to relax me, just for tonight. Today was just too much." He glanced up, meeting Jon's eyes, making his own eyes deep and hurt. "Sean even tried to talk me out of it, but I wouldn't listen." Behind Jon's back, Sean's expression was incredulous.

Jon sighed. "Tony, alcohol's never the answer, especially when you're on a dry campus."

Race nodded shamefully, staring at the toes of his sneakers.

"Look, I've never had any trouble with you before – I know your record's fine," Jon said. "And you're legally old enough to drink, so I'm not obligated to report you. I want you to dump that alcohol down the sink, right now, while I watch."

Race obediently took the bottle to the sink and upturned it.

"All right," Jon said when it was empty. "I'm just giving you a warning today instead of a ticket – that's only half the usual fine. It'll go in your files, but as long as I don't have any problems with you for the rest of the year, I'll take it out before we pass them along to the grad schools you're applying to. Is that fair enough?"

Race nodded. "Oh, definitely. Thanks, Jon."

"The fine's $150. It's due in my office within thirty days. I'll stick an official notice about it in your mailbox tomorrow morning." Jon picked up the empty bottle and the shot glass. "Next time, Tony, just go to a bar, huh?" He left.

Race blew out a breath and pressed his fingertips to his eyes.

Sean was watching him. "You should have been in theatre with Mush," he finally said.

"Yeah? I'm good at bluffing."

"Well, thanks, I guess."

Race tried not to smile. "That was enthusiastic."

Sean shifted uncomfortably. Race got the definite impression his roommate didn't like being indebted to anyone. "Look, it's fine," he finally said. "I knew I could get away with it, and I was pretty sure you couldn't. They seriously fuck with your financial aid and stuff if you get citations like that."

Sean nodded. He was staring out the window again.

"Besides," Race added, "I figure I owe you."

Sean looked at him. "How's that?"

"I know perfectly well you've been looking out for me the last few days," Race said.

Again, Sean shifted in his chair. "I haven't done nothing."

"Sure you have," Race said easily. "I can tell because it's the type of stuff I do for all our other friends every other day of the year. So thanks, and we're even now, okay?" He sprawled backwards on his bed. "Shit, $150. That's a lot of cash."

Sean tapped his fingers on the edge of the desk.

Race looked at him. "You nervous or something?"

"Look, I know I should pay the fine," Sean finally said. "Or at least part of it. But I just don't got that kinda money right now."

Race sat up. "I wasn't asking you to pay."

"But I should."

"It's fine." Race waited until Sean had looked at him, then repeated, "Sean, it's fine." Sean nodded, and Race laid back down, head tipped to one side, still watching Sean. "Maybe I'll get the money out of my parents." He chuckled. "I'll tell them I have a girlfriend and I want to buy her jewelry or something. They'll be so thrilled they won't even mind that I'm taking their money."

Sean's face hardened. He stood and grabbed his jacket.

"Sean?"

"Cigarette," he said shortly as he headed out the door.

Race stared after him. What the hell had that been? "Maybe the shock of speaking more than four words at a time finally did him in," he muttered, then shucked his shirt and jeans, crawled under the blankets, and pretended to go to sleep. When Sean strolled back into the room an hour later – it must have been a very large cigarette, Race thought – he shut off the lights and climbed immediately into bed. Once his breathing regularized, Race flipped on his bedside lamp and pulled the paperback he'd been working on out from under his pillow. It was going to be another long night.

**AN:** I (shockingly) have no commentary for this chapter, so I'll just say thanks for reading and reviewing! And, of course, thanks to the lovely and talented B, Amanda, Purple Rhapsody, and Shannon for their betaing skills – particularly Shannon this time around, since she was especially insightful this chapter.


	8. Behind Blue Eyes, Ch 8

**Chapter Eight**

"And so, the message is sent by the sender and received by the receiver. Of course, if there's any interference or interpretation in between, this can add a new aspect to the communication model."

David's eyes began to droop shut, and he shoved his hand more firmly under his chin to keep his head from tipping. Communication core classes were brutally dull. He tried to concentrate on the clock, watching as the second hand made its slow progress around the face. Only five minutes left in class and then he could go meet up with his friends… three… one.

Professor Haselwander ground to a halt. "Well, it looks like we're out of time. Chapters five and six for next class. See you Thursday."

Yawning, David stood and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

"That was thrilling," one of the girls who had been sitting near him muttered.

"Gripping," he agreed.

She grinned at him. "David, right?"

"Uh, yeah," he said. "I'm sorry, I don't remember – "

"Monica."

"Right," he said. He headed out of the classroom and down the hall to the exit. Monica followed.

"You edit the newspaper, right?" she asked.

He groaned. "Don't remind me." He glanced at her. "Are you a journalism major? We could really use a couple more reporters…"

She laughed. "Sorry, Perry White. I have a work study job in the president's office that takes up most of my free time. And it pays a lot better than the newspaper staff."

"Ha." David snorted. "Just about anything does." He started across the quad towards the university center and the LDR.

Laughing again, she tossed her hair a bit. "Aw, you poor beleaguered journalist. Hey, I'll make it up to you – buy you lunch?"

"Sorry," he said. "I've got a meeting. Maybe some other time."

"Sure." She shrugged. "Nice talking to you, Chief. See you in class on Tuesday." She headed off in the general direction of the dorms as David turned and headed into the building and automatically down the stairs to the basement room where the newspaper offices were located.

It wasn't until he was settled into his desk and flipping through the stack of mail that had come for him while he'd been out for the days surrounding Crutchy's death and funeral that it occurred to him that Monica might have been flirting with him.

"Well, shit," he muttered.

"Oh?" Mush said, coming into the room with Blink in tow.

David nodded. "I think a girl was just trying to hit on me and I was totally missing it."

Mush managed to keep a semi-straight face, but Blink burst out laughing. "Dave," he said, "it's no wonder you never have dates."

David snorted. "Like I have time anyway. I'm practically married to this damn paper."

Blink stuck his hands in David's face and rubbed the two index fingers together. "See this? It's the world's saddest song played on the world's smallest violin."

Mush shoved Blink into a chair. "Blink, shut up." He turned back to David. "You _think_ she was hitting on you? Let's hear it. What did she do?"

"Um. She offered to by me lunch."

"No, no. Body language! How did she move, what little actions did she do?"

"Uh… I think she flipped her hair. She laughed at my jokes, I guess."

Mush nodded sagely. "Hair flipping's a definite sign."

Blink shrugged. "Hair flipping? Pretty flimsy. I always figure, if they brush their boobs up against you, they're hot for you. Otherwise, it's all too vague."

"Blink, you're the soul of class," Mush said, sighing.

Blink grinned. "I know."

"What are we talking about?" Race said as he came into the room, Sean trailing behind him.

"The girl who was hitting on Davey," Mush said.

"The what who was _what_ now?" Jack said, coming in behind Sean.

David groaned. "Let's drop it."

"Drop what?" Specs asked as he and Dutchy piled into the office.

"The girl who was hitting on Davey," Mush repeated.

"Wait," Jack said, "Who was this chick? And what was she doing?"

"Eh, there was no boob-to-body contact," Blink said. "So nothing to worry about, Jack."

"What's that supposed to mean?" David and Jack asked in unison.

Sarah appeared in the doorway. "Did I just hear 'boob-to-body contact'?" she asked. "Whose boobs? And whose body?"

"Some girl's boobs," Blink said.

Del came into the room in time to roll her eyes. "Wow, that was the brilliant statement of the week."

"Hey, they could have been man-boobs," Blink protested.

David groaned.

Mush punched at him playfully. "We all have our doubts about David, anyway, right?"

"Wait, rewind," Sarah said. "Whose body are we talking about the boobs – the girl's boobs – making contact with?"

"Your brother's," Race said wryly.

"Oh, ew." Sarah winced. "Forget I asked."

David cleared his throat, glancing up as Swifty rushed in. "Yeah, let's forget about it. Um, Bumlets and Skittery had class, and Gabby and Teensy said they would be late, so I think everyone's here."

"Wait, wait, wait," Jack protested. "I want to hear about this chick who was brushing her boobs against you."

Swifty looked up from where he was settling on the arm of the chair Del was sitting in. "What?"

David buried his face in his hands.

* * *

Sean was wedged into the corner of a very small, very stiff couch. Tony was sitting almost on top of him – not, he ruefully admitted to himself, that he minded having Tony's thigh pressed against his own all that much – and Specs and Dutchy had managed to fit themselves onto the couch as well. Of course, Dutchy had taken his customary seat on Specs's lap, so that saved a little space.

The newspaper office was not a large room. There was just enough space for a square table with eight chairs around it in the center of the room. A tiny couch and two armchairs were lined up against one wall; two desks were jammed against the opposite wall. The door could only be opened about halfway thanks to the filing cabinets stuck behind it.

From her seat in one of the armchairs, Del was loudly arguing with Blink about – well, God only knew what. Mush had somehow boosted himself on top of the filing cabinet and from his perch was trying to call details of David's girl-encounter across the room to Jack.

Sarah, Jack, and David had lined themselves up in the desk chairs, Sarah and David both choosing to sit in the chairs, while Jack had inched his butt onto the desktop and was resting his feet on the seat of his chair. It was a pretty good balancing act; four computers also filled the top of the two desks, barely leaving room to wedge mousepads in between their keyboards.

Sean nudged the toe of his sneaker against David's knee. "You know you'd have more room on those desktops if you went to flat-screen monitors."

David pulled his hands away from his face and stared at Sean. "Believe me, Jack has pointed that out to me on several occasions. But unless you have a trust fund hidden away somewhere that you want to donate to us, we're not getting new equipment." He ran a hand through his curls. "I practically had to sell my soul just to get Windows XP last year."

Sean glanced at Tony, who nodded and grinned, then leaned over and whispered conspiratorially, "I think he actually promised Pulitzer obscene sexual favors."

"Wait," Sean said, looking back to David, "you mean you've actually met Pulitzer?"

David shrugged. "No. Race is kidding – nobody sees Mr. Pulitzer."

"And that," Jack said, "is why we're actually here." The din in the background had finally died down, Mush having finally reassured Jack and all other concerned parties that no shameless hussies had molested Davey.

All eyes focused on Jack, but he turned to David. "Go ahead, Davey. Tell us what to do."

David cleared his throat. "Um. Well, we, uh, we got another press release from the administration about the recent tenure decisions. It seems we're not the only people who have been, um, disconcerted by them."

Sean saw Del's head turn toward the end of the couch where he and Tony were sitting and watched as Tony caught her eye. "Disconcerted?" she mouthed, then rolled her eyes. Tony grinned.

"Pulitzer said the four members of the faculty were let go for financial reasons," David said, reading the news release in his hand. " 'The expense of operating a school such as USU pressed us to reconsider tenuring so many of our faculty members. A tenured faculty member's classes can easily be taught be one or two instructors who cost less and have more real world experience and contacts.' "

"And less teaching skills," Jack snorted.

Del ran a tattooed hand through her hair. "All right, so what the fuck are we supposed to do about it?

Everyone looked at David.

"Um…" David said.

"There's a brilliant plan," Sean muttered under his breath.

Tony smirked a bit, but shook his head slightly. "Give him a chance," he said, putting a restraining hand on Sean's denim-covered thigh.

Sean barely resisted jumping, glancing down at Tony's hand, then up at his face in surprise. Tony glanced down and up at the same time, then yanked his hand away like it was scorching hot metal instead of flesh under Sean's jeans. Clearing his throat awkwardly, Tony turned his attention pointedly on David. Sean followed suit, blinking a little dazedly.

"Well, maybe we should start by talking to all the departments and seeing what the students think and if anyone is meeting or planning on their own that we could join with," David suggested hesitantly, turning to Jack.

"The teachers, too," Mush said. "See how many of them are on our side and how many are on the administration's side."

"Or how many are so detached they don't give a damn," Blink said bitterly.

Sean caught a fleeting glimpse of concern and what may have been hurt flashing across Mush's face before he said, "Or that. Yeah." He raised an eyebrow. The emotions between the members of their circle of friends seemed to be pushing through to the surface more than usual since Crutchy's death. There were going to be some interesting weeks ahead, he thought.

"All right," Jack said. "So we need some ambassadors."

"I can take the Music Department," Blink said.

"Good," Jack said. "It's probably a good idea for us to talk to people within our own majors." He glanced at Del. "Del, you're in Music, too – you can both take it if you want. It doesn't have to be a solo gig."

Del looked at Blink and wrinkled her nose. "No thanks. I'll go somewhere else – the Theatre Department, I guess."

"I could - " Swifty began.

"I'll go with you," Mush interrupted.

"Good," said Jack. "Now, who else?"

* * *

Del was pretty sure if she heard the bell over the door of the diner ring one more time, she was going to be forced to rip it down and shove it up some idiotic customer's ass. They were crazy busy with a lunch rush; Susan and Lucy were more backed up with waiting orders than Del could ever remember seeing them. Meanwhile, Morris had called in sick and Oscar had been sent to the back room to wash dishes – a task he was proving to be none too good at, Del thought as she snatched a egg-caked fork up from a table as she passed by and plunked a clean one in its place – leaving Sean alone to bus all the tables. Race was trying to help him, she noted, watching him bring waters to several tables of waiting customers, but he, like Del, was already stretched pretty thin.

Del was working the diner's counter, while Race worked the tables. He had a longer distance to walk between the kitchen window and the customers, but she also had to handle the register and ringing checks out, so it all worked out evenly.

"Excuse me, honey, can you get me a piece of rhubarb pie?"

Del shook her head at the late-middle-aged woman sitting at the counter, even managing to smile though she detested being called honey. "Sorry, we don't have rhubarb. Apple, peach, blueberry, chocolate mousse, and lemon meringue."

The woman frowned. "You always used to."

Del shook her head again – this time without the smile. "Nope, it's always just been those five flavors."

The woman squinted at Del, sizing her up. Her obvious decision was clear in her eyes: clueless college kid. "I've been coming here for years, and you always used to have rhubarb pie."

"Okay." Gritting her teeth, Del resisted pointing out that she had been working at the diner for years, yet had never seen the woman before.

With a put-upon sigh, the woman laid her menu down and requested a slice of apple pie.

Del bared her teeth. "Right, coming up. Thanks." She ducked into the kitchen to cut a slice and paused to close her eyes and take a deep breath. Her hands itched to hold her bass – she would've killed to be able to play some seriously angry rock right now. Letting the breath out slowly, she picked up the pie and returned to the dining room.

She surveyed the scene as she plunked the plate down in front of her customer. "Enjoy," she said distractedly, counting the number of people waiting to be seated and looking around for empty or nearly empty tables. Race brushed by her, carrying a loaded tray.

"Welcome to hell," he said, heading for one of his tables.

She snorted and refilled several cups of coffee as she watched the tables, hoping someone was nearly done eating. As she watched, she saw Race stumble a little over a purse one of the customers had left half in the aisle. The heavy tray he had balancing on his shoulder began to tip, and Del closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable crash.

It never came.

She reopened her eyes in time to see Sean helping Race settle his tray onto one of the stands and holding the edge until he had unloaded all of the plates. Race turned toward Sean and flashed him a bright and grateful grin, which Sean returned. And Race blushed.

He blushed.

Tony "Racetrack" Higgins, the manly Italian who fought like he belonged on the streets, who had an answer for every problem, who could joke his way out of any situation, blushed like a virgin on prom night. Del stared, transfixed, the background noise of the diner fading away.

Well, fuck me, she thought. Race and Sean.

The bell over the door pulled her out of her trance, and she turned to glare, the anger in her face softening when she saw Swifty coming through the doorway. He smiled at her, the wide, happy grin that usually spread across his face when he was drumming, and came over to the counter. She motioned him to sit down at the one available seat in the restaurant – the stool _behind_ the register – then began making her way down the counter to him, refilling coffee cups on the way.

"Hey," he said. "You look, um, stressed."

She sighed. "Morris called in sick, Oscar's in back covering for him, and we're busier than I can ever remember us being." She shifted her weight from foot to foot, trying to relieve some of the tension in her aching calves.

"That sucks," Swifty said.

"Hm," she said, agreeing distractedly as she stuck her now empty coffee pot back onto the burner and punched the button to brew a new pot.

Swifty cleared his throat a little. "Well, I just stopped by to make sure we're rehearsing tomorrow. Last I heard we weren't sure."

"Yeah," Del said. "We've gotta fit practice in sometime; it'll be finals and Christmas break soon, and you know we won't be getting practice in then, and then before you know it we'll be back in January and we'll suck." She began ferrying plates from one of her orders from under the warming lamps to the customers sitting at the counter. "So we'll practice. Blink and Mush's, sevenish. As long as I don't die today, that is."

Swifty winced sympathetically. "That bad, huh?"

"My feet are killing me, my back is even worse, and I would kiss Weasel if it meant I could have a cigarette." Del smacked a plate of toast down in front of on of her customers and dug jelly packets out of her apron pocket.

Swifty stood, pulling off his jacket. "Well, I know I pale by comparison to Weasel, but I'll give you a hand if you want."

Del stared at him. "Are you kidding me?"

He shrugged, shifting uncomfortably. "I mean, I can't cook or anything, but how much does it take to clear away the dirty dishes?"

She grabbed him for a quick squeeze. "Fuck Weasel, I could totally kiss you right now."

Swifty blushed slightly and looked away as Del hurried over to Sean to let him know that Swifty would be helping him bus.

"God, what a day…" Race groaned as he pulled his car into the dorm parking lot and shut it off. He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead on the steering wheel.

"Remind me why we were working," Sean said, then yawned. "Aren't we supposed to be the morning shift, not the middle of the day and into the night shift?"

"Mmph," Race said, not opening his eyes. "Because Del called in a panic with no one to work and we were being nice and helping a friend out?"

"Definitely not," Sean said. "I don't do nice, I don't help out – so that must not have been it."

Opening his eyes, Race gave a weak chuckle. "Um, because it was a Wednesday and neither of us have afternoon classes, so we didn't have anything else to do?"

Sean stared. "I'm trying to decide if that's a better or worse alternative."

"C'mon," Race said, opening his door. "There's a big bottle of Advil in our room that's calling my name."

"There's a big bottle of vodka down the street at the liquor store that's calling my name," Sean said.

Race glared at him. "And do I have to remind you what happened last time you drank?"

"Look who's talking," Sean muttered. "Don't worry, I'm ignoring its call."

They were back in their room, undressing for bed and brushing teeth and hair, before Race realized they'd had another conversation. Not a Race talks and Sean sits in silence session, not a fight – a conversation. These unusual little moments were becoming more and more, well, usual. It was weird – and nice.

Sighing, Race climbed into bed. It was soft, and warm, and comfortable. Sean was already in his bunk, so the room was quiet. He closed his eyes and waited.

Nothing happened.

"C'mon, please," he murmured. He was so tired. Between work and trying to keep up with his friends, the stress of Crutchy's death and the growing situation with Pulitzer, plus the massive amounts of studying he had to do, he was absolutely exhausted. "Please."

He tossed and rolled and turned for nearly half an hour before he heard an irritated sigh from above him. Sean swung down over the railing, skipping the ladder all together, and landed on the floor next to his bed. Race sat up, confused.

"All right, Tony," Sean said. "I've been patient and haven't pried, but now your rolling around down there is starting to affect _my_ sleep. What's the deal?"

"What are you talking about?" Race asked, looking away, though he wasn't sure if it was to try to avoid the discussion or to try to avoid having very uncomfortable thoughts about how good Sean looked standing there in just his boxers.

Sean perched on the edge of the desk and gave him an annoyed look. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

Race sat back against the headboard, his shoulders hunched. "I don't sleep well," he said stiffly.

"Funny thing, I kinda figured that out since you never sleep." Sean dug around in the pocket of the jean jacket draped over the back of his desk chair, then lit a cigarette.

"Ugh, can you not smoke in our room? Please," Race grumbled.

Sean blew out a mouthful of smoke and took another drag. "So?" he said.

"So what?"

"So why don't you sleep?"

"Why don't you talk?"

Sean raised an eyebrow. Race sighed.

"It's not like – I mean, there's no deep psychological reason," he said. "It's not like I was scarred by some traumatic experience in my past or something. I just don't sleep. Some nights I just can't fall asleep, other mornings I wake up too early. Sometimes I can fall asleep but then I wake up ten, eleven, twelve times throughout the night."

"What if you're sleeping with someone else?" Sean asked.

Race looked quickly at Sean, but he was staring out the window, face impassive. "It's – well, it's been a while since I slept with anyone, and even then, it wasn't like we cuddled afterwards or anything." Except you, he added silently, remembering how Sean had curled up in bed with him the day he'd heard Crutchy had died.

"Mm," said Sean. He rose, strolled over to the sink, and stabbed his cigarette out in the basin. Then he turned and approached Race's bedside. "Lay down," he said. He lifted his chin in the slightly arrogant gesture Race recognized as a little signal, a tell, from the few hands of poker they'd played together; Sean was about to do something daring, like bluff his way to winning a hand with only a pair of deuces.

"Lay down," Sean repeated.

Slowly, slowly, Race lay down on his back, body rigid. Spot lay on his side next to him, head propped up on one arm. "Just relax," he said, looping his other arm over Race's chest. Race nodded stiffly, his thoughts racing. Sure, all right, he could relax with Sean, his annoying and frustratingly complex roommate who alternately hated him and played footsie with him under tables and whom he might, just might (okay, _did_), have a crush on lying next to him in bed, holding him as comfortably and casually as if they had been long-time lovers.

"It worked before," Sean whispered, "let's see if it works again."

Race nodded again, forgetting for minute that he wasn't supposed to know about that stolen evening together. After a while he felt the warmth of Sean's body begin to seep into his own. The arm draped across his chest grew heavy and limp, and Sean's breaths became long and even. Race's eyes drooped, and he slipped into a comfortable sleep.

He woke later – glancing at the clock, he saw it was over five hours later – feeling very rested.

Whaddya know, he thought. It worked.

Sean was still in bed with him, still had that one arm wrapped around him. Race had rolled onto his side in sleep so the two were spooned together, Sean's chest pressed against his back. When Race began to stir, ready to get up, Sean's arm tightened.

"Go back to sleep, Tony," he murmured.

Race opened his mouth, ready to tell Sean that it was fine, that sleeping for five hours straight was more than enough for him, but the answer died in his throat. Sean's hand began to move, tracing hot circles on his chest, then sliding lower to his flat belly.

"Go to sleep," he said again, his voice still low. "Everything's fine. Close your eyes."

Race did close his eyes, but it wasn't because he was trying to sleep again. It was because Sean's hand had slid even lower and was now rubbing right above his waistband, and Race was doing everything he could not to moan out loud. Arousal, heavy and warm, spread languorously down his limbs. He bit his lip. His hips moved without his control, pressing back into Sean's, and Race suddenly became aware that Sean was enjoying this just as much as he was. Jesus, was all he could think. Jesus.

He rolled over onto his back so he could see Sean's face. Sean's eyes were open, the pale blue irises almost glowing in the moonlight coming in the window. His hand lay on Race's lower stomach, still now and heavy. Their eyes met, and Race got the feeling that Sean was waiting for him to respond, to say yes or no, to question him or throw him out.

Instead, he slipped a hand up behind Sean's head and pulled him down, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Their first kiss was searching, testing. Race slid Sean's lips apart with his tongue and felt Sean's tongue brushing against his own, then exploring every line, every crevice of his mouth, tracing along the bottom of his teeth. He could taste cigarette smoke and sleep; it may have been the most delicious thing he'd ever tasted. When he threaded his fingers through Sean's hair and rubbed his thumbs over Sean's cheekbones, Sean groaned and surged forward, thrusting his tongue all the way into Race's mouth. He rolled them so he ended up sprawled on top of Race, trapping Race's thighs between his knees. Race clutched his hips and then slid his hands down, gripped Sean's ass and pulled him even closer, ground up against him and moaned into the kiss.

Sean sat up, then slid his hands down Race's chest, gripped his shirt in both hands and tugged it up. His fingers, when he slipped them beneath the hem and began to stroke his hands over Race's stomach, were surprisingly cool, and Race shivered deliciously. Sean slid his hands up over Race's chest, brushing his hardening nipples gently, until Race's neck arched back, exposing his throat as he let out a low groan.

"Fuck, Sean. Oh God." Smirking, Sean leaned down and kissed Race's throat, bit down on the soft flesh where his neck met his shoulders until Race moaned again. Then he tugged again on Race's shirt, and Race raised himself off the bed enough for Sean to pull it over his head. Sean ran his hand over the smooth planes of Race's muscles.

"Jesus, Tony, you're built," he murmured. He lowered his head and kissed Race's collarbone, running his tongue along the smooth edge, and then pressed a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses to his sternum.

Race's mind floundered in a fog, trying to figure out if he was supposed to respond to Sean's comment. What had he said again? His broken train of thoughts stopped abruptly and he gasped as Sean flicked his tongue against a nipple. Their bare chests rubbed together, smooth skin sliding against smooth skin, and then Sean seemed to be everywhere. He was kissing Race's stomach again and dipping his tongue into Race's navel, and Race moaned, his fingers smoothing and stroking down the bare skin of Sean's back. When he got to the waist of Sean's boxers, Sean lifted his hips to let Race slide them down. Then he gripped Race's hips in his hands, pressed him harder into the bed. Race's eyes were closed and he tipped his head forward, pressed his face into the crook of Sean's neck, let his tongue slip out to taste Sean's skin.

"Fuck," Sean groaned as Race's tongue slid along his earlobe at the same time he rolled his hips up into Sean's. "Tony – I need – I have to – "

And then it was just sweat-slicked bodies and panting gasps, hardness and softness and tightness, hot mouths and clever long-boned fingers that slid and hooked into just the right spots. Through a haze of pleasure Race realized that Sean was fumbling for protection and then poised to enter him and waiting for him to say it was okay, and he nodded without hesitation, because even though he'd only done this once before, Sean obviously knew what he was doing, and Race had never felt so good, as if electric currents were surging through his body, as if he were laying on top of a grand piano and feeling the vibrations of the music, as if he were bathing in a pool of hot wax. Legs spread, ankles hooked over shoulders, hands gripped slim hips and muscular thighs, bodies pressed closer and closer together. And then there was nothing but the hot, wet pulse of pleasure as the room filled with soft moans and grunts and gasps of "Tony" and "Sean."

* * *

Afterwards, they lay with bodies cooling stickily together, and Sean waited for Tony to freak out, to realize it had been a mistake, to leave or to kick him out. But when Tony finally opened his eyes and rolled onto his side, all he did was give Sean a sweet and satisfied smile and curl into him. His hand was on Sean's hip, stroking lazy patterns across the bones and skin. He tucked his head under Sean's chin and pressed a kiss to his breastbone, then looped a leg over Sean's thigh.

Sean stared into the darkness of the room, struggling not to break his own rules and speak first. Finally, sighing, he gave up the fight. "Tony?"

"Mm?"

"What just happened here?"

Tony pulled back slightly until Sean could see his face. "Do I need to explain to you?"

Sean grimaced. "I mean – "

"Cause to properly explain I'd have to get some anatomically correct dolls or diagrams or something, and I really don't think I'll have the strength to get up for a while."

Sean felt some of the tightness in his stomach loosen, and let a hesitant grin sneak across his face. "Yeah?"

Tony grinned back. "Oh yeah."

Sean smirked. "You saying I rocked your world, or what?"

"Not to add to your already considerable ego, but you can definitely consider my world rocked."

Well, that sounded promising. "I'm going to guess it's safe for me to assume you're gay, then?" Sean asked.

"Oh, it's safe." Tony began to rub the small of Sean's back, tracing a thumbnail lightly up his spine and down again.

Sean had never really cuddled after any of his – well, there'd really only been one-night stands to this point. Hesitantly, he curled an arm around Tony. After a few moments, he found that he couldn't help tracing the planes of Tony's muscles.

"God, you're built."

He could feel Tony smile against the smooth skin of his chest. "Yeah, you mentioned something like that; I am actually working out when I say I'm at the gym with Mush. And you – " Tony's hands slid down to cup his ass " – have this incredible ass."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah." Tony rubbed his foot against Sean's calf. They were quiet for a few minutes, just breathing the air that was still thick with the smells of sex.

"Tony?" Sean finally whispered.

"Hm?" Tony's voice was sleepy.

"You're not going to wake up and freak out about this, are you? Or pretend it didn't happen?"

Tony was quiet for so long Sean began to wonder if he'd fallen asleep. Finally he leaned his head back again so his face was visible. "Would never happen," he said softly. He brushed his lips gently against the side of Sean's neck. "Right now, I'm actually tired, which rarely happens, so I _am_ going to sleep for a bit. But when I wake up…" he grinned. "I'll let you rock my world again."

**AN:** Okay, you guys have been very good to me with all your reviews and have now read over 100 pages typed in Word, so just for you all: finally some action! I don't think I could have waited much longer anyway – the boys are just too hot. This was my first smutty scene ever – I'm usually more of a fade-to-black type of writer – so I'd love feedback, particularly since I'm not of the gay male persuasion and had to make educated guesses about some details.

Newsies doesn't belong to me, in case you were confused.

My betas were very good to me this chapter and gave me oodles of feedback, so double the usual love.

Note that from here on out, the rating of this story on will increase.


	9. Behind Blue Eyes, Ch 9

**Chapter Nine**

Race woke slowly, enjoying the fact that his eyes weren't burning and his muscles felt relaxed, if a bit sore – particularly in certain places. He was even warm enough, thanks largely to Sean, who again was lying spooned up against his back. Sean's breath was moist on the back of his neck, and his hand was balled into a fist and curled under the edge of Race's ribcage. Race covered Sean's hand with his own and gently traced over the knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

Sean. He and Sean had – well, what had they done? Fucked? Had sex? He could certainly use those terms to describe their first time together, and even the second time, which had had a similar overarching feeling of need, if not quite as frenzied a pace. But the third time they'd wakened and turned to each other, in the pearly grey light just before dawn, had been slow and gentle, with a lot of long, lazy kisses and hands that stroked and soothed instead of grabbing and groping. Before Sean there'd only been that one time – and it had been all about experiencing and selfish pleasure. But this seemed different. Sean was different.

Everything was different.

Sean moaned softly in his sleep and rolled towards the edge of the bed. Race cuddled up behind him and rubbed a hand down one lean arm. He didn't really know anything about Sean, Race supposed, other than the fact that he was gay and a computer science major. Sean had never revealed anything about his past, nothing about his life before coming to USU. It had obviously been something dark and unhappy, though, and Race sighed a little. To what degree did Sean's past shape him? Who were his parents, what had his childhood been like?

The phone on the desk rang Race's pattern, and Sean groaned as Race reached over him to grab it. "Sorry," Race murmured before he put the receiver to his ear. "Yeah?"

"Anthony! Do you always answer your phone that way? Did I teach you no manners at all?"

Race sighed. "Sorry, Mom. How are you?" He let himself drop back against the pillows.

"I'm well, thank you, other than being torn apart with worry because my only child has neither called nor e-mailed for over two weeks."

"Sorry, Mom." It was the key phrase in any conversation with his mother.

"Well, you have my forgiveness, of course, but it was troubling, dear."

"Yeah – yes. Sorry." He traced a hand lazily over Sean's side.

"Fine then. Tell me what you've been up to today so far."

Race nearly snorted as his fingers slid along the ridge of Sean's hip bone. What had he been up to so far today? She really didn't want to know.

When he didn't respond, his mother pressed. "I didn't wake you, I hope. It _is_ 9:30, after all. I assumed all but the laziest people are out of bed by now."

"No, Mom, of course not. Been up since 8:00 studying."

Sean snorted.

"Speak in complete sentences, Anthony. You're an educated young man; there's no reason not to act it."

"Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry." Sean began to pull away and get out of bed. Race clamped a hand onto his forearm and tugged him back, mouthing, "Just a sec."

"Fine, then," his mother said. "Now, I called to see when you were planning on coming home for Thanksgiving."

Race winced. "Uh, I have a late class on Wednesday night, Mom, and serious class prep work for finals start the Friday after Thanksgiving, so I was thinking I'd maybe skip trying to get home this year."

Stony silence answered this suggestion.

"I mean, you'll see me right after Thanksgiving anyway, right? There's only two weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas break…"

"I see," his mother said, her voice clipped. "Fine, then. Perhaps you'll find time in that busy schedule of yours to remember your family on Thanksgiving and call. If you're not to busy with those friends of yours, those liberal, bohemian – " her voice trembled with anger, and she nearly spat the next word " – _artists_. Have a lovely day, Anthony. Good-bye."

"Mom, of course I'll call – " Race began, but his mother had already hung up. "Jesus," he sighed. Sean took the phone from his hand and hung it up, but didn't speak. "Sorry that woke you," Race finally said.

"Whatever," Sean said. "I was awake anyway."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. You were thinking too loud. I couldn't sleep."

Race chuckled and curled in closer to Sean, tucking his head under Sean's chin. "Not the ideal morning-after scene," he said.

"No." Sean's fingers slid hesitantly through Race's hair.

Groaning a little, Race glanced at the clock. "I really don't want to go to class. Or breakfast. Or anywhere outside the bed." He rolled over and sat up. "Which may pose a problem since I really need to pee."

"Yeah." Sean sat up as Race slid out of the bed and pulled his boxers on.

Shivering a bit with the loss of Sean's body heat, Race made his way to his closet and began pawing through it.

"Here." Sean tossed a sweatshirt at him. "Put that on before you freeze."

Race pulled the navy blue USU hoodie over his head. "Thanks," he said, his voice muffled. "I'll give it back when I get to my wash and get my sweatshirts done."

"Nah, keep it," Sean said. "It's not mine anyway – I think Jack forgot and left it here last week."

Dressed, they went out to the elevator – which was miraculously working today – to start down to breakfast. There were a few moments of awkwardness when they got on the elevator; Sean studied the ceiling intently while Race examined the toes of his scuffed sneakers, and they caught each other's glances twice and hurriedly looked away. The third time it happened, Race smiled and reached out to take Sean's hand. He would just have to be the one to make most of the moves in this relationship, he decided, but that was okay as long as the moves weren't rebuffed.

Most of their friends were gathered around their usual table in the LDR when Race and Sean set their trays down.

"Morning, guys," Race said. He flicked the brim of Blink's baseball cap, then snatched the newspaper out of his friend's hands. "Thanks."

"Hey!" Blink protested. "I was reading that." His face settled into a determined pout.

"Here," Mush sighed. "I'm done. Read this." He thrust the paper he'd been reading into his roommate's hands.

Blink glanced down and frowned. "The Arts section? Oh joy."

"Dude, beggars and choosers, man," Skittery said, then stood. "I'm out."

Jack was staring at Race. "I have a sweatshirt just like that," he said, a suspicious look on his face.

"Not anymore," Sean said under his breath.

Race looked at him and the pair chuckled quietly together. Del watched at them, her eyes narrowed.

David approached the table, his eyes bleary, his hair mussed. Jack pulled an empty chair over next to his own, and David collapsed in it, groaning.

"That's a stunning outfit you've got on, Davey," Race said. "Amazing how much it looks like the one you were wearing yesterday." Under the table, he rubbed Sean's thigh.

David glared. "Shut. Up."

"Back off, Race," Sarah said. "I lived for eighteen years with that. If you get too close when he has that look on his face, you could lose an arm."

David turned his glare on her. "Coffee."

She sighed and stood, patting his head. "Okay, sweetie, I'll get you coffee. Sit tight."

"Starbucks."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "Fine. I'll go across the street to Starbucks even though there's perfectly good coffee at the counter up there. _That_ is just how good of a sister I am." She headed towards the door, nose in the air.

"Extra foam!" David called after her.

"Let me guess," Race said. "Newspaper-related stress?"

David grunted something that sounded suspiciously like "Fucking op editor," but that couldn't have been right, because Dave never swore like that. Race raised his eyebrows at Jack.

Jack sighed. "The opinion editor lost the disk with the whole newspaper saved on it on the way to the printer's yesterday. That was apparently after he deleted the copy on the computer because he thought the one on the disk was enough." He patted David's shoulder.

"Why'd the op editor have the disk, anyway? Don't you take it to the printer?" Race asked, wrinkling his brow.

David was resting his forehead on the edge of the table. "Take turns," he said to the floor.

"Wow," Del said, standing. "As much fun as Caveman Davey is, I sadly have to get to class." She pulled on her backpack. "Race, want to walk with me?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm going to hang out a few minutes still."

"Oh, c'mon," Del said. "I could use your help on that paper I'm writing for psych. Just a little free advice?"

Race raised an eyebrow. "Oh, right, that psych paper. Sure, I can give you some advice. Get started and I'll catch up with you in a minute."

She nodded and headed out. Race glanced around the table – Jack was thoroughly involved in trying to prop a very droopy David up, Blink was reading his newspaper, and Mush was scanning a thick script and mouthing lines – then turned to Sean. "I guess I should go to class." He gave Sean's thigh one more squeeze, then stood and picked up his tray.

"Yeah," Sean said. He grabbed his own tray and followed Race to the tray return.

"So," Race said as he shoved his tray into an empty slot. "That Thursday night thing we do – it's tonight."

"Today being Thursday," Sean said.

"Right," Race said. "We're doing it at Blink and Mush's cause the band needs to practice. You could come, if you wanted."

Sean hesitated. "Maybe."

Race nodded. "It's cool. I'll probably walk down around eight if you want to go. If not, we'll, um, spend some quality time together when I get back, okay?"

"Yeah." Sean tugged at the frayed cuffs of his zip-up sweater. "I gotta get to class."

"Yeah," Race said. "See you later." He was already late for class, and he still had to catch up with Del, but that didn't stop Race from watching Sean's ass as he walked away.

Del was waiting for him near the quad. "Took you long enough."

He shook his head at her. "Del… you don't take psych." He sighed and took a sip from the bottle of juice he'd carried with him out of the LDR.

"Nope." She tilted her head slightly and studied his face. "You got laid."

He swallowed hard to keep from spitting orange juice all over her. "Uh…"

"So you and Sean, huh?" She shook her head. "I'm actually kind of disappointed in myself for not seeing it coming." She looked at him. "You keeping it a secret for a while, or what?"

Still wondering what had hit him, Race blinked. "I don't know. We haven't really talked about it."

"So?" She gave him a little nudge. "Was it incredible?"

Race pursed his lips. "I'm thinking I'm not going to class. C'mon, we'll go get Starbucks and talk."

"Ooh," Del said. "We're going to do the girly thing. Goody. This is going to be the highlight of my week." She linked their arms.

He laughed. "Del, David is more of a girl than you are."

"C'mon," she said, tugging him along. "Details. Was it a hills-are-alive, the whole world is singing type of night?"

He laughed again and let her propel them along towards Starbucks. "I may have heard the Hallelujah Chorus a few times."

* * *

Sean paced restlessly in the dorm room, waiting for Tony to get back. He wasn't used to uncertainty entering into his relationships; he kept to himself, made the occasional hook-up to release building pressure, and both parties went on their separate ways. This coming back to the same room, seeing the person he'd slept with the night before, was a foreign idea, and he wasn't sure he was happy with it. How was he supposed to act around Tony? And why the hell did he care? Post-coital etiquette had certainly never mattered to him before.

The e-mail from Jax that had been waiting in his inbox when he'd gotten back after class wasn't helping, either; it couldn't have come at a worse time. He bent over and called the message up on the screen and reread it, though there wasn't much point to it. He knew every one of the short, to-the-point sentences.

Spot:

Jack Kelly (dob 3/27/84, Manhattan, NY), died 4/13/84 in Manhattan.

Will expect payment within 2 weeks. Account number will follow.

Jax

So Jack Kelly was dead. He'd double-check the death records himself, wait for Belcher to confirm that there wasn't anything else to know about Jack Kelly. In the meantime, though, his stomach was uncustomarily tight. And he was pacing. Christ, Sean Conlon was pacing. If the boys in Brooklyn could see him now.

"Sean?" Tony stuck his head around the corner of the closets and grinned when he saw Sean. "Hey."

Sean stopped pacing and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Tony made his way further into the room, kicking off his shoes and tossing his backpack into the corner by his closet. He approached his roommate. Sean stiffened, ready for an uncomfortable "honey, I'm home" kiss, but Tony just walked past him and edged his butt onto his desk, watching him.

"So you want to come down to Blink and Mush's with me?"

Sean shrugged.

"Free food," Tony offered. "It's Del's turn to cook us something."

Sean snorted. "Del?" She didn't exactly conjure up the image of a domestic goddess.

Tony laughed. "I know, but she's seriously an awesome cook. She's worked at a couple different diners, takes over for Susie and Luce when they're on vacations and stuff. I think she even took a couple of cul arts courses as electives."

"Huh."

Tony nudged his foot against Sean's calf, giving it a little rub with his stockinged toes. "No pressure. The band will be practicing, though, which would give you ample opportunity to heckle."

Sean couldn't stop the small grin that spread across his face. "Yeah."

The walk down to the apartments was cold and decidedly not fun. The tiny particles of snow that blew in their faces felt like ice pellets, and the wind cut through the layers of clothes they were wearing. To Sean's relief, both boys had their hands jammed in their pockets, so he didn't have to worry about whether or not Tony would try to hold his hand.

"Welcome to winter," Tony said. His head was edged far down into his coat collar, just his nose protruding.

Sean would have rolled his eyes if they hadn't been squinted nearly closed. They could have driven Tony's car down, but Tony had insisted that they walk so that they wouldn't have to worry about one of them being a DD. "Because it's Blink and Mush's, so there will most certainly be booze," he said. "We can get Davey to drive us back afterwards."

There was booze when they got there indeed, in the form of many, many bottles of beer clasped in various hands around the apartment. Blink and Swifty were bent over their amps and other equipment at one end of the living room, Gabby looking on with a decidedly amused expression. Del was yelling instructions from the kitchen, which Blink was steadfastedly ignoring. Swifty looked torn between trying to follow Del's advice and helping Blink with his own methods.

Mush was watching the pair as they worked with a rapt expression. Sean raised his eyebrows a bit when he saw the expression was blatantly focused on Blink's rippling arms muscles, exposed by his rolled-up sleeves. Jack was sitting on the couch, focusing a similarly worshipful expression on the bottle of beer in his hand; David was a few feet away, frowning.

Sean smirked. The connections between the group of friends just got more and more interesting.

There was a sudden blare of feedback, and Swifty jumped back from the speakers and landed on his butt on the floor.

Del's head poked out of kitchen. "What the fuck is going on out there?"

Gabby was laughing. "Blink and the amp are doing battle."

Del rolled her eyes and stepped back into the kitchen. "Sounds like the amp's winning."

There was a tap on the door, followed by Specs and Dutchy entering the room, Sarah on their heels. With a drunkenly pleased grin, Jack pulled her down into his lap. David looked away.

"Success!" shouted Blink from where he was huddled over the back of the amp. He stood, picked up his guitar, and let the solo from the beginning of "Layla" scream out. Swifty grinned and headed for his drumset, Gabby picked up her violin, and Del came out of the kitchen and walked to her bass, muttering, "Finally."

Sean couldn't stop his head from nodding along as the music swelled, filling the room. Beside him, Tony was tapping a foot along to the beat. His still leg was pressed up against Sean's, their thighs warmly trapped against each other, but he'd made no move to take Sean's hand or out him in any other way. The band finished "Layla" and launched into "White Rabbit," Blink crooning the drug reference-laden lyrics into the microphone. They paused, Blink and Del had a brief argument over whether the bass should be louder or quieter – Gabby ended the argument by pointing out that the song was really drum-driven, so a strong bassline was a necessity – the pair argued again over what song to play next, and Swifty rolled his eyes, said, "Baba O'Reilly," and counted them into the Who hit. Sean watched Gabby as she ripped through the violin solo that ended the song, her fingers flying, her bow bending and stroking wildly over her strings. When the last notes died away, Blink pumped a fist in the air. "Now that's what I'm talking about!"

Del nodded. "Dumbass is right. It sounded awesome, Gabs."

Gabby blushed a little and looked down.

Del lifted her bass off and set it in its stand. "Break time. I'll get dinner out." She headed for the kitchen as everyone found seats around the living room.

"So next Thursday's Thanksgiving," David said.

"Very good, Davey," Tony said. He rubbed outside of his ankle slowly against Sean's, a tiny movement that was likely unnoticeable to everyone else. Sean noticed it, though.

David scowled at him. "I wasn't done. So, who's going home, who's staying here?"

"We're going home," Gabby said as she settled into a sheet-covered armchair. "Ricky and I." It took a minute before Sean realized that she meant Bumlets.

"We're staying," Tony said, gesturing to Sean and himself. Sean raised an eyebrow. They'd become a "we" already?

Dutchy swallowed, looking nervous. "Specs and I are going to my parents' place," he said. He was looking at Tony. Sean glanced at Tony's face – his eyebrow was raised questioningly – then back at Dutchy, who was giving a slight nod.

Del entered the room, carrying a large salad and a stack of small bowls that looked suspiciously similar to the bowls the school used in the dining halls. She set them on Blink and Mush's "coffee table" – a sturdy board across two milk crates, then said, "Well, I'm staying here."

"Me too," Blink and Mush echoed in unison, then Blink asked, "How about you, Jack?"

"Huh?" Jack said. He was trying to slip a hand up the back of Sarah's blouse without spilling beer all over both of them.

David sighed. "He's staying. And so am I – I can't afford an entire weekend off from the newspaper." He turned to his sister. "When are you heading home, Sar?"

Sarah looked thoughtful. "You know, if you're staying, and if Jack's staying, maybe I'll stay too. Mom and Dad will be fine for one year without us."

David nodded. "They do have a ridiculous number of relatives over to keep them company."

"Right," Sarah said, then chuckled. "Ha, Les will have to do all the helping with the cooking and cleaning." She slapped Jack's hand away from her back.

"What about Skittery?" David asked. "Does anyone know if he's staying?" He glanced around the room. "Where is he tonight, anyway?"

No one answered, but Blink, who was balancing his guitar in his lap, began to pick out the notes of "Mary Jane's Last Dance."

"How about Teensy?" Mush asked. "I haven't seen her for a while, either."

Del came back out of the kitchen, a pan of steaming lasagna in her hands. "She's probably dying her hair."

Sarah snickered, but shook her head. "She's been studying like a fiend for her GREs."

Tony groaned. "God, don't remind me."

Del started to hand out plates of lasagna, and everyone's mouths were full for a few minutes. Eventually, David cleared his throat and said, "Well, I was thinking – "

"Dum, dum, dum," Blink intoned.

David sighed. "Maybe we could do a Thanksgiving dinner for us? I mean, for those of us who are staying here?" He looked around.

Mush was nodding slowly. "That could be cool."

"Yeah," Del agreed. Blink was nodding.

"That's actually a pretty cool idea, Davey," Sarah said. She slapped Jack's hand away from her chest. "Do it again and I put hot lasagna down your pants, buddy," she threatened him.

Sean snorted. Tony raised an eyebrow at him, and he shrugged. "Sounds good to us," Tony said.

David beamed. "We'll have to all pitch in money or something. We can have it here, right Mush, Blink? Does anyone know how to make pie?"

Sean sighed. Sometimes he could understand what was appealing about David – he was so incredibly earnest and well-intentioned. Not that he'd ever dream of making a move on David. He was definitely not Sean's type, besides the fact that he was pretty sure Jack would chop off his balls if Sean came near his Davey.

Tony reached for Sean's now empty plate, brushing his fingertips over the back of Sean's hand as he took it. He was beginning to think that Tony just might beat Jack to castrating him if he ever hit on David – or anyone else. He wasn't sure what he thought about that.

* * *

David dropped them off at the dorm door before driving off to park his car, and the pair hurried to unlock the door and get up the stairs and into their room. The wind hadn't abated at all, and it had been joined by what looked like it was going to be the first serious snowfall of the season.

Race watched as Sean shrugged out of his jacket inside the room and tossed his hair to shake the snow out. His black T-shirt – the Ramones today – clung to his shoulders. It was clearly old and just a little too small for him.

"I think we should shrink all your shirts," Race said offhandedly. He glanced down. "Or your jeans. That would work, too."

Sean looked over his shoulder at Race, raising an eyebrow. The pose made Race's stomach tighten, and he couldn't help himself. He jumped at Sean, latching on to his mouth and sliding his hands down to cup his ass.

Sean responded immediately, pulling Race's lip between his teeth gently and grasping Race's bicep. He dragged Race over to the bed, then pushed him down and crawled on top of him. Clothing was quickly discarded. Race moaned appreciatively, enjoying Sean's hands on his body, but when Sean's exploring fingers slipped down his ass, Race drew back with a hiss of pain. Sean immediately froze.

"You sore?"

"A little," Race admitted. "Um, can we maybe – not all the way – tonight?"

Sean rolled off of him. "Yeah. Right, sure." He slid to the edge of the bed.

Race sat up. "I mean, it's not that I don't want to. I think I just need a day or two to heal a little. We can still – "

"Sure," Sean said, standing. He turned to the ladder.

"Sean," Race said. Sean turned back. "You can still sleep in my bed," Race offered tentatively.

Sean held very still, and for a minute Race thought he was going to shake his head and climb up to his own bed. But he slowly made his way back to Race's bunk.

Race moved over, smiling, as Sean slid under the covers. When Sean had reached up and flipped off the light, Race curled into him, tucking his head under Sean's chin and letting his hand rest on the sharp angle of his hip.

"Good night," he said softly.

"Night," Sean said. There was both wonder and confusion in his voice, but his hand was firm as it stroked over Race's back.

**AN: **I don't know why, but I'm totally obsessed with Del. I'd love feedback on her in reviews, since she's the first non-canon character I've brought in for more than a passing mention and tried to develop. Is she in here too much? Is she Mary Sueish? Is she believable and rounded out, especially in her interactions with the newsies?

But hey, any feedback at all is good too!

Thanks to B and Amanda for betaing this chapter; remember the characters mostly don't belong to me. Oh, and every song I mention in this chapter is an incredible song that you all should go listen to. Now.


	10. Behind Blue Eyes, Ch 10

**Chapter 10**

**Disclaimer:** Most characters don't belong to me, though their situations and modern adaptations do.

**Warning**: There is a little coarse language in this chapter, as guys talking to guys about sex can get a little – well, blunt. I don't see it offending anyone terribly, but just in case: you've been warned.

Sean tugged at his apron and yawned as he dumped a load of dirty forks into the big silverware bin in the bussing station. The whole getting up at 5:00 a.m. thing was starting to get to him. Between work and David and Jack calling meetings about Pulitzer and his social life growing – and no one was more surprised about that than Sean himself – and the weight of papers and reading for class increasing as the semester drew to a close, his free time was being sliced down to nothing.

Tony brushed by the station, a tray balanced in his arms. Sean watched the muscles in his shoulders bunch and move as he lowered the tray to a stand and began handing out plates. A familiar warmth stirred in him.

The fact that he had a very attractive new boyfriend who he was having trouble keeping his hands off might also have had something to do with his exhaustion.

Weasel strolled by, hands in his pockets and vacuous glare in place. "Are we working or daydreaming, Conlon?" he sneered.

Sean rolled his eyes, picked up the little plastic bin that butter pats were kept in, and pushed past Weasel. "Can't talk, Wease. Gotta fill up the butter."

Del was refilling coffee mugs and feigning interest – badly – in the life stories being shared with her by the various old women and truckers sitting at the counter.

"When I'm done in Tucson, then I head for Indiana – that's about a twenty-seven hour drive, usually, but I can make it in a day…"

" – so I just told my doctor, that pain in my back is probably sciatica, I said, or maybe a spinal fracture…"

Del looked up and caught Sean's eye, laughed appreciatively at a joke a trucker made and made the appropriate sympathetic clucks over an old woman, then excused herself and hurried over to Sean.

"You have the fakest customer laugh I've ever heard," Sean said lowly.

Del glared at him. "Fucking kill me."

Sean smirked. "No such luck today." He waved the empty plastic container in his hand under her nose. "Where's the butter?"

"The big storage cooler in the back room." She sighed and picked up her coffee pot. "Once more into the fray."

The kitchen smelled foul when he walked in. Lucy was standing at the stove, stirring with one hand and holding a dainty embroidered handkerchief to her nose with the other, carrying on with her cooking valiantly. Susie and Morris were hunched over the sinks, doing something that involved a lot of swearing and a plunger.

"Considering a career change?" Sean asked.

"Fucking grease trap backed up," Susie muttered. "Give me the goddamn plunger, Morris. You handle that thing like a girl."

Morris protested in his guttural voice, and Sean hastily headed for the storage room.

The storage room didn't smell nearly as bad as the kitchen, and the stacks of cardboard boxes and mountains of Styrofoam carryout containers and paper napkins seemed to absorb sound, including Morris's ear-bleeding complaints. The room was still and warm and quiet other than the hum of the cooler's engine. A blast of cold air greeted him when he opened the cooler door and made the tiny hairs on the back of his neck prickle. The long, dimly-lit cooler spread out before him, and he realized he had no idea where to look.

"Butter pats, butter pats," he murmured as he began pushing boxes around on the shelves, nudging the buckets and crates on the floor. Pickles, jelly, olives, ketchup, hashbrowns, eggs – no butter pats. He bent over to see the bottom shelves better.

From behind him, he could hear the cooler door unlatch and open. He sighed, hoping it wasn't one of the Delanceys. He was too tired to try to deal with either of the Neanderthals right now.

"Well, that's a nice view," Tony's voice said.

Sean allowed himself a small smirk before standing up and turning towards his boyfriend and scowling. "Where the hell are the damn butter pats?" he asked.

Tony stood in the entryway of the cooler, leaning with arms crossed and one shoulder against the wall. An empty plastic container similar to the one Sean carried dangled from his hand.

"I think they're on the bottom shelf," Tony said. "You should definitely bend over again and look for them some more."

Sean rolled his eyes and turned to open one of the storage cabinets behind him. He was valiantly craning his neck, trying to see onto the top shelf – no way in hell he was going to stand tiptoe or jump in front of Tony, dammit – when he felt a pair of arms snaked around his waist. And he _did_ jump when Tony kissed the back of his neck.

That warmth pooled in his lower belly was back again. Still, he shook his head a little. "Tony…" Anyone could come into the cooler and see them.

"Hm?" Tony pressed another kiss to his neck, tracing his tongue up the grooves of Sean's spine.

Sean's eyes rolled back in his head and his lids slid shut.

"Were you going to say something?" Tony asked. He sounded supremely pleased with himself.

Well, to hell with this, Sean thought. If they were going to do something this stupid, he sure as hell was going to be in charge of it.

He turned in Tony's arms and captured his mouth roughly, letting their teeth clash together and digging his fingers deeply enough into Tony's shoulders that Tony let out a muffled yelp. Taking advantage of his surprise, Sean turned the two so that Tony's back was pressed up against the cabinet.

Their mouths slammed together again, lips and tongues and teeth nipping and tangling. Tony's hands found Sean's ass and cupped him, drawing their bodies even closer. Sean rolled his hips so they ground together; Tony pulled his mouth away from Sean's to gasp and groan.

"Fuck," he panted. "We can't do this here." But his hips were pushing back against Sean's.

"You started it," Sean said against Tony's neck as he kissed a path from Tony's ear to his shoulder. Tony's hips jerked forward again as Sean pulled back his shirt collar and scraped his teeth along the groove of Tony's collarbone. Sean's hips pressed back automatically and he couldn't help the moan that slipped out.

Dimly he thought that perhaps they should stop, that this could be a very messy situation is someone came looking for them, but the thought kept getting lost in the molasses-thick fog of pleasure that was rapidly filling his mind. Time was speeding by, and Tony's nails were raking up and down his back, and he was panting and swearing and begging in Sean's ear, and they _really_ should stop, but he was achingly hard and their hips were thrusting together in rhythm now, and all Sean could do was grab Tony's ass and haul him even closer for more of the glorious friction. One of Tony's hands left his back as he stuffed a fist in his mouth to muffle his cries as his hips jerked sharply; the other hand slid up to cling to Sean's shoulder desperately. Seconds later, Sean's body gave an answer jerk as he felt wet heat spreading across the front of his pants. He slumped forward, barely keeping himself from collapsing onto Tony with one hand propped against the supply cabinet. Tony was breathing heavily in his ear, still clutching Sean's shoulder with one hand.

"Jesus," Tony finally said, his head falling back against the cabinet. "I haven't, so fast – that hasn't happened – since maybe high school."

"Yeah," Sean grunted. He stepped away, adjusting the front of his pants and grimacing. "What are we - ?" he motioned to the damp stain on his pants.

Tony glanced down and winced at the similar patch on him. "Um," he said, looking around. "Oh, here. We'll spill something on us." He grabbed a large jar of olives off a shelf.

Sean frowned. "I'm not spending the rest of the day with my pants smelling like olives."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "Well, it's that or cum."

Sean sighed, but the annoyance in his tone was teasing. "The things I do for you."

"You can't tell me you didn't get just as much out of that as I did," Tony said. He waved his hand at Sean's crotch. "The evidence is all over the front of your pants."

"Fair enough," Sean muttered. "Okay, do it." He closed his eyes, waiting for the cold splash of olive juice on his legs. Instead, he felt Tony's fingers, cold but soft, rubbing against his jaw, and a kiss pressed to his lips.

"Mmph," he mumbled, kissing back. Tony's mouth slid along the side of his face. "Tony - we've already been gone too long."

"I know," Tony said breathily into the side of Sean's neck. "But you just – " kiss " – _do_ these things to me, and I can't – " kiss " – resist. Maybe we need to ask – " kiss " – for different shifts."

Sean snorted. "Fuck that. This is the best day I had at work since I started here."

Tony laughed and pulled his head back, lazily combing his fingers through Sean's spill of hair. "What about the day Morris dropped that whole turkey on the floor and Susie chased him out of here with a broom?" He stepped back, tugging on his clothes to straighten them.

Sean tilted his head, considering. "All right, that one's up there." He held his hands out in front of him, weighing them like scales. "Orgasm or Delancey humiliation. Orgasm or Delancey humiliation. Definitely a tough choice."

Tony held up the jar of olives. "Ready?"

Sean grinned.

* * *

"Here," Del said, thrusting a large, ripe orange pumpkin at Blink and a wicked butcher knife towards Dutchy. "Clean the pumpkin."

"Jack-O-Lanterns?" asked Dutchy, looking confused.

"Pie," Del sighed.

"Oh, right. Yeah. Uh, where do we clean it?"

"Bathtub. It'll be easier to clean up that way," Del said.

"Ah." Blink nodded. "Like killing someone." He turned and followed Dutchy out of the kitchen.

Everyone stared at Blink's retreating back. "Uh, scared of your roommate," Jack said to Mush.

Mush rolled his eyes. "He watches too much _CSI_."

"Test those potatoes," Del interrupted. 'They must be about done by now."

Mush looked at her blankly. "How do I do that?"

Del rolled her eyes. "Take a knife. Stab the potatoes. If they feel soft, they're done. If they feel hard, they're not. Can you handle that?"

Race bit his lip to hide a smile. Insisting that Del had more food-related experience than the rest of them, Jack, David, Mush, Blink and the others had elected her head chef of their little Thanksgiving feast. He'd bet money they were regretting that move now.

Now, the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, she stood in the doorway of the tiny kitchen in Blink and Mush's apartment, a huge white dishtowel tied around her waist, watching every move the rest of them made. Even Specs and Dutchy, who were leaving in a matter of hours to go to Dutchy's parents' house, had been roped into helping for while. The miniscule room was unbearably hot and aromatically cluttered with the clashing smells of cranberries, onions, and the scent of the giblets boiling for gravy on the back burner of the stove.

"You can't chop those walnuts too finely, Sean," Del instructed. "Otherwise they'll go to mush in the dough when you knead it. Keep them in nice little pieces."

Sean shoved his hair back off his forehead, leaving a dark brown streak from the walnuts behind, and glared at Del. "Exactly how big are 'nice little pieces'?" he asked sardonically.

Del glared right back. "Somewhere between those half-a-crumb-sized pieces you're doing right now, and the six-inch cubes that Jack is chopping that onion into." She turned her frown on Jack. "How would you like to take a forkful of stuffing and get a piece of onion that big to chew on?"

Jack grinned at her, unrepentant. "I'd love it. I love onions."

Race snorted from over by the stove where he was slowly stirring a bubbling mass of something Del had sworn would turn out to be their cranberry sauce. "That's why he always smells so pretty," he said.

Mush laughed. "And why he always has so many dates," he added.

"Hey, hey, I date!" Jack protested.

"Oh, he dates," Musha and Race said to each other mockingly.

"Sure you date, honey," said Del, soothingly. "If you define dating as bouncing between poor Sarah and high quality chicks like that nuclear scientist who was trying to swallow your tonsils last night at the bar."

Jack winced. "I don't remember much of it. Was it that bad?"

The boys whooped. "Let me put it this way," Del said, "I didn't know it was possible for a person's tongue to stretch that far. But then, I'm generally not considered to be the group genius like our brainiac Davey here." She turned to where Davey was standing near the doorway, folding up paper grocery bags. "What do you think, Dave? How far can a person's tongue stretch?"

Dave's face was expressionless. "I'd better go see how Dutchy and Blink are doing with gutting that pumpkin." He turned and headed off in the general direction of the bathroom.

Jack shrugged and turned back to his chopping. "You know, when Del and Race came back from grocery shopping with a real pumpkin, I though it was just for decoration," he said. "I've never heard of anyone making pumpkin pie with a filling that didn't come out of a can."

Specs grunted as he lifted the heavy pot of potatoes off the stove top and carried it toward the sink. "Poor little city kid. You should've grown up in the middle of nowhere, like Dutch and I both did." Dave reentered the kitchen. "How's my baby doing?" Specs asked, pouring the steaming water off the potatoes.

Dave grinned. "He's up to his elbows in pumpkin guts," he said. "Squealing the whole way. It's priceless – I wish I'd brought my camera."

Jack dropped his knife with a clatter, sending a spray of onion bits up into his sweatshirt. "I've got one on my phone!" He raced from the room, Mush and Specs right behind him.

Race chuckled. "Troublemaker."

David smiled innocently at him as shrieks of "No, you guys, c'mon, don't take any pic – Jack! I can't believe you took that!" came from the bathroom. "I have no idea what you're talking about," he said, eyes wide.

* * *

"Ryan Louis Ballatt, don't you dare throw that at m- Blink! Blech!"

"Hey, don't we need those pumpkin innards for the pie?"

Race laughed at the ruckus coming from the other room. Del walked over to him and held out a hand. "Want me to take over for a minute so you guys can go watch the battle?"

Race handed her the spatula. "Yeah. C'mon, Sean, Dave." The trio strolled from the room. Del was quiet for a moment, listening to the shrill yelling in the bathroom, until Mush stormed in, wiping his face.

"Bastard threw pumpkin guts at me," he said, grabbing a wad of paper towel and scraping the orange goo off his cheeks.

"Jerk," Del said.

"Jack, I can't believe you stuck that pumpkin stuff down my shirt!" came David's angry bellow.

"I hope the neighbors don't call to complain," Del said.

"Yeah," Mush said. "How embarrassing would it be for us to have to explain that we weren't having a raucous drinking party, it was just our friends cleaning a pumpkin in our bathtub?" He tossed his balled-up paper towel out.

Del gave him a half-smile, then asked, "How far did Jack get with those onions?"

"Almost done," he said, reaching for the last one. "I'll finish them up for you."

"Thanks. We'll start tearing up that bread next," she said, watching the thermometer in the cranberries she was stirring. She grasped the pot firmly with one hand, her other hand moving the spatula steadily in the same figure eight pattern around the sides, over and over again.

"Almost there," she muttered, watching the small dial of the candy thermometer. She bent forward slightly, squinting, and a handful of hair slid over her shoulder and into her eyes.

"Shit," she said, trying to toss it back without letting go of the pot handle or the spatula. She jiggled her shoulders manically. Mush bit his lip, but a laugh escaped, and she turned a frosty glare on him.

"I'm sorry," he snickered. "I was just waiting for you to say, 'Look Mom, no hands!'"

"Don't stand there laughing at me, you jerk," she said. "Come help me."

"Yes, ma'am," he said obediently, setting down his knife and crossing the room to stand behind her and scoop her hair out of her eyes. "Should I just stand here and hold it?"

Del sighed exasperatedly. "There's a hair tie in my sweatshirt pocket."

Mush snaked an arm around her and fished it out, then looped the smooth brown mass into a ponytail. It wasn't the neatest ever, but it would do for now. "There you go," he said, giving the tail a tug and patting her shoulders.

She jumped a little as he touched her, and her spatula slowed. "Thanks," she said. Her voice was slightly strangled.

"You're welcome," Mush said. He didn't take his hands off her shoulders. Del tried to take a deep breath, tried to clear her throat, but Mush smelled like vanilla, and she could feel the heat of his body through the layers of clothes between them, and the air in the kitchen suddenly felt heavy, like walking outside on a hot, muggy day in August and getting hit with a wall of humidity.

Blink walked into the room and stopped, staring at them, and Del cleared her throat and started stirring briskly again, and Mush stuffed his hands into his pockets, and Jack and David and Specs and Race reentered the room, having finished their torture of Dutchy. Mush went back to chopping his onions, which didn't seem to bother Jack any, and Del snapped off the burner on the stove and began pouring the cranberries into a jelly mold. When she glanced at Blink a few minutes later, he was still standing just inside the doorway, watching her.

* * *

"Happy Thanksgiving," Jack said, raising his glass.

"Happy Thanksgiving," the rest of the group around the table echoed, clinking their glasses together.

"God, everything looks really good, Del," Mush said, digging a spoon into the sweet potato casserole.

She nodded. "I know."

Race nudged her in the side. "Don't be so modest."

"I won't."

On his other side, Sean snorted. He waited a beat for Blink to chime in with some disparaging comment about Del or her cooking skills or her lack of modesty, but nothing came. He looked down the table; Blink was sitting between David and Mush and staring fixedly at his plate.

There was a tap on the door and Sarah walked in, brushing snow from her hair. She tossed her coat and scarf over the back of the couch and joined them at the table. "Sorry I'm late," she said, leaning down to kiss David, then Jack, on their cheeks. She slipped into the empty chair between Jack and Mush.

"It's okay, we just started," Jack said. He took her hand as she settled into her chair.

"You know," Sarah said a few minutes later. "When Dave and I were kids, our parents used to make us go around the table and say what we were thankful for before we could eat."

David groaned. "Let's not do that."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "No worries, I'm not going to make you do that." She forked up some mashed potatoes. "I don't need to hear your list, I can guess it: Jack, your family, your scholarship, and your _Wonderfalls_ DVDs."

David shifted uncomfortably as everyone stared. "Um, I, uh, the girl in that show was hot?"

"I'm not going to make you draw turkeys out of your handprint, either," Sarah said. "I was just thinking out loud. Remembering Thanksgiving when we were little."

Race pushed his food around on his plate. Thanksgivings past with his family weren't quite as happy as the Jacobs' seemed to have been. They generally involved early Mass and a lot of praying before dinner, followed by his mother lamenting that Thanksgiving just wasn't treated with the reverence it used to be. There was no Thanksgiving Day parade or football allowed – his mother frowned on both as commercialization of a day that should have been about family and prayer. Race didn't particularly lament the loss of either, but he had watched clips of the Macy's parade on YouTube last year after everyone else had gone to bed, just out of protest.

She hadn't been happy when he called this morning, Race reflected. It had been a short, stiffer-than-usual conversation that largely consisted of her quizzing him about who he would be eating dinner with and whether or not he had gone to Mass yet. He hedged about the first, mentioning Jack and Sean – they were computer science majors, and therefore more acceptable than his art freak friends – and outright lied about the second. He sighed slightly, then resumed eating. Sean caught his eye and gave him a small, surprisingly sincere smile. Under the table, he was gently rubbing his foot against Race's ankle.

Race looked around. Jack had finished eating and looped arms around both David and Sarah's shoulders; he was watching Sarah and Del animatedly discuss something Teensy had done. David was leaning into his shoulder, picking at his turkey distractedly as he discussed some element of the Pulitzer issue with Mush. Blink was poking Mush, like a six-year-old trying to get his parent's attention. A cell phone blipped – seven hands around the table automatically went to pockets or purses – and Blink held his up. "Mine." He pressed buttons rapidly, then grinned as he read the display. "Hey, Swifty says happy Thanksgiving, everyone, and he wishes he was here because his grandma's house is boring."

Race felt something swelling in his stomach and throat. Sean's leg was warm against his, and his friends surrounded him, chattering and laughing and smiling. They weren't exactly a Norman Rockwell painting – he snorted lightly at the thought of a Rockwell painting that included a girl with tattooed hands, a gay couple, and a boy with an eyepatch – but they were at least as good as the eclectic family gathered at the end of _Pieces of April_. He took Sean's hand and squeezed it. They were family.

"Sean and I are dating."

The words were out of his mouth before he even realized he was saying them. Conversation died around the table. Del was watching him with an amused smirk; everyone else's faces were mixes of confusion and surprise.

"Speaking of things I'm grateful for," he added lamely.

"Uh, wow," David said. He sat up and away from Jack's arm. "Congrats, I think."

"Wait," said Blink. "Sean's gay?"

Sarah grinned and reached around Del to pat Race's shoulder. "Congrats, definitely."

Jack just blinked.

"Whoa," Blink said awkwardly. "I guess my gaydar sucks." He cleared his throat. "So, um, how's that work?" He flushed when Mush snorted back laughter. "I mean, how's it working out – how long have you been, um, together?"

"A few weeks," Race said. He glanced at Sean. Sean was watching him, eyes wide. When their eyes met, Race smiled tentatively, biting the corner of his lip. It suddenly occurred to him that maybe he shouldn't have given everyone this news without discussing it with Sean. Then again, how did one discuss anything with Sean, exactly? The rest of the table was quiet. Then the corners of Sean's mouth lifted.

"Aw…" Del drawled breaking the silence, and everyone laughed and moved on to other subjects. She winked at Race.

He and Sean kept their hands firmly linked through the rest of the meal.

* * *

Thanksgiving led into the pressures of the last weeks of classes, and Tony and Sean and all their friends slipped into the end of the semester traditions: little sleep, long days and nights in the library, study groups and review sessions. It no longer seemed odd to Sean to have to step around students sleeping on the floor as he walked through the stacks to pick up a book for a research paper he had to write. He and Tony hadn't had sex for nearly a week, which showed just how busy and stressed they really were – though they had made out for almost half an hour between J and K in the Law section of the library one afternoon when they were supposed to be researching.

The Friday before finals started, Sean woke up with a scratchy throat and a stuffed-up nose. He groaned.

"What's wrong?" Tony asked, rolling on his side and rubbing his eyes.

"Nothing," Sean said – though it sounded more like, "Dothing."

Tony blinked. "Are you sick?" He sat up and scrutinized Sean's face. Sean glared and sat up, turning away.

"Don't be such a baby," Tony said. He grabbed Sean's shoulder and pushed him onto his back, then reached a hand up and touched his forehead with the inside of his wrist, like a mother. "You're only a little warm," he said. "You probably just have a cold." He clambered down the ladder from Sean's bed and walked around to the side so he could study Sean. "Everyone gets sick during finals – too much stress, crappy weather, not enough sleep."

Sean scowled. He suspected the effectiveness of his scowl was marred when he had to sniffle.

Tony chuckled a little and reached up to brush Sean's sweat-dampened hair from his forehead. "Look, you just take it easy, okay? It's the last day of class. You won't be missed. You're not scheduled to work today, are you?"

Sean coughed. "Yeah, I told Wease I'd cover the afternoon shift."

Tony nodded. "All right, I'll take care of it. You rest and I'll be back after work." He pulled the blankets up around Sean's chin and dropped a kiss on his forehead, a casually affectionate gesture that had both of them blinking in surprise, then clearing their throats against the awkwardness.

"I, uh, yeah," Tony said. "Um, just rest, okay?" He dropped to the floor and headed for the door.

Sean dropped back to sleep almost immediately and didn't wake until five hours later. His throat was raw and his lips cracked with thirst. He sat up and climbed down the ladder shakily, then stood for a minute watching the room spin. His head was pounding, every muscle ached, and his whole body shook with chills. To his disgust, a small whimper escaped his lips. He felt _terrible_. He just wanted Tony to come home and take care of him.

He reached for the phone and punched in Tony's cell phone number, and actually let it ring three times before he came to his senses. "What am I doing?" he muttered, dropping the receiver back into its stand. He was Sean Conlon. He wasn't supposed to need anybody like this.

But that thought didn't stop him from climbing into Tony's bed instead of his own. He buried his face in Tony's pillow and, between coughs and sniffles, breathed in the smells of Tony's shampoo and sweat and drifted off to sleep again.

* * *

Race frowned as he checked the readout of his phone. Someone had called from his and Sean's dorm room, but hadn't left a message.

"Get your ass in gear, Higgins," Weasel snapped behind him. "Six, eight, and eleven need to be cleared and seven and two need water."

Race sighed and dropped his cell back in his pocket. Clearly relishing being in charge of Race for a change today, Weasel was doing his very best to make work an unpleasant experience.

He brought seven and two their waters, cleared six and eight, and was unpleasantly reminded of why he preferred waiting to busing when a half-full bowl of soup from eleven sloshed down his front and soaked through his apron. Gritting his teeth, he headed for the sink in the back room.

Susan was setting up the roast for the dinner cook to carve, and Lucy was scraping the last of some sort of batter into a greased baking pan. She clucked her tongue at him when she saw the mess down his front.

"Rinse it with lots of cold water when you get home," she said, "and rub it with hand lotion if the grease stains." She popped her pan into the oven and set the timer.

He nodded. "Thanks, Luce." It sounded absurd, but Lucy was one of those grandmotherly types who knew everything about little domestic details like that. Grabbing a wet rag from the edge of the sink, he began to blot at the worst of the mess.

Morris looked up from the dishes he was scrubbing to snicker at him. Race ignored him.

"So, Tony," said Susan, untying her apron and pulling off her hairnet. Race glanced at the clock – it was 3:00. Time for those souls left over from the morning shift to head home. He sighed. He still had three hours left to go on Sean's afternoon shift.

"What's up, Suze?"

"Where's that cute little roommate of yours?"

He shrugged. "Wasn't feeling well today. I told him I'd cover for him."

Morris cooed behind him. "Isn't that sweet? Little Racey-poo's covering for his boyfriend."

Race froze. His sexuality wasn't common knowledge at either school or work. For a moment he flashed back to the scene at the Thanksgiving dinner table. Maybe it hadn't been a good idea to share the relationship with so many people – people talked… He shook his head. His friends knew better than to talk about something like that when there were strangers around. _So ignore it, dumbass_, he told himself. _Morris is just blowing hot air to piss you off_.

He didn't have to ignore it, though; Susan whopped Morris on the back of the head. "That's enough out of you, Morris," she said.

Morris whimpered a little.

"I'll not have such talk in my kitchen." She fluffed her hair where the hairnet had flattened it. "If Race is straight, there's no reason to imply he's gay. If he's gay – and I frankly don't care a whit whether he is or not– and he managed to land that adorable Sean, good for him. Maybe he can fatten him up a bit." She smacked the back of Morris's head again. "But I won't have you making implications about anyone's sexuality, or acting as though you're somehow superior to homosexuals just because you like women."

Race grinned at her. "Did I ever mention how cool you are?"

She sniffed and breezed out the back door. Lucy smiled teasingly at him. "What about me? I told you how to get the stain out of your shirt."

"Yeah, you rock, too." He gave her a quick hug before she followed her twin outside.

Morris leered at him when he turned back. "So, little faggy Race needs two old bags to stand up for him, huh?"

Race sighed. "Morris, do we have to do this today? I just want to finish this shift and go home."

"Why? So you can get back to fuck your boyfriend? Is he keeping your bed warm for you?"

"You know, Morris," Race said, "I'm trying to figure out if you're covering for your own homosexual tendencies by overcompensating or if you're just jealous because you know even if I was gay I'd be getting more action than you ever do." He watched Morris's face turn three shades of red.

"I ain't a fag!"

Race shrugged. "So you're jealous then." He paused. "Or maybe you're just a homophobic asshole." Morris's eyes bulged, but before he could lunge for Race, Race threw the rag back in the full sink – hard. A wave of soapy dishwater splashed into Morris's face, leaving him blinking and sputtering.

Race raced for the door into the dining room, cruised past Weasel at a high-speed walk and called back to him, "Wease I'm taking off Morris said he'd cover the rest of Sean's shift isn't that nice see you later!" before ducking out the door.

He made a few stops, then headed for the dorm. When he got back to the room, it was quiet except for Sean's thick breathing – he still sounded stuffed up. He sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed Sean's shoulder gently.

Sean blinked blearily at him. "Hi," he said hoarsely.

"Hi." Race brushed his fingertips across Sean's forehead, tucking back stray hairs. "I got you some stuff." He grabbed the shopping bag he'd brought in with him. "Let's see, Nyquil, sinus medicine, cough medicine, Advil, water, orange juice, Kleenex – the extra soft kind with the aloe in them – and some of that Vick's Vapor Rub stuff."

Sean wrinkled his nose. "That stuff stinks."

"Yup. But it does its job. It'll loosen your chest up and make it easier for you to breathe." He grabbed a thermos that had been sitting by his feet. "And, I got some chicken noodle soup and heated it up for you downstairs." He stood to rifle through their pile of dishes and silverware "borrowed" from the dining halls, then poured the soup out into a bowl and handed it with a spoon to Sean.

Sean was staring at him. Race shifted uncomfortably. "What?"

"You – you're like taking care of me, and shit."

Race shrugged. "Sure. Everyone deserves to be taken care of when they're sick. That goes double if you're my boyfriend."

"I… no one's ever taken care of me before," Sean mumbled. He hesitated. "I called you while you were gone."

"I know. That's part of the reason I skipped out of work early. I was worried you needed something." He set the bowl on the corner of his desk and helped Sean prop himself with some pillows, then put the bowl into his hands. "So why'd you call?"

Sean took a slow slurp of his soup. "I woke up and was alone and felt crappy and just – I don't know – wanted to talk to you, or something." He looked down at his bowl, concentrating very hard on catching a bit of chicken on his spoon.

Race settled on the end of the bed, facing him. "So's that mean you miss me when I'm not around or what?"

Sean shrugged. "I guess I do." He didn't look up, and his voice got quieter. "Or I kind of need you or something."

Race rubbed his feet gently through the blanket. "You feel better when I'm here?" Sean shrugged again, and Race continued. "Because I do. Feel better around you, I mean."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Sean looked up and smiled a tiny, tenuous, but sincere smile. "I guess that's it."

Race smirked. "That why you're sleeping in my bed?"

"Don't get a big head about it or nothing." Sean rolled his eyes.

Race chuckled. "Eat your soup."

Sean slurped up a few more spoonfuls. "So why else are you home early?" When Race raised an eyebrow, he said, "You said that part of the reason you came home early was because you saw I called. What was the rest of the reason?"

"Oh. It was just – Morris Delancey can be a real bastard sometimes, you know?"

Sean snorted. "No, I somehow missed that."

"Shut up. He was just ragging on me, saying you were my boyfriend, stuff like that."

"Uh," Sean coughed. "I am your boyfriend." He scraped the last few drops of soup up in his spoon and set the empty bowl on Race's desk.

Race sighed. "I know. But I'm not out to the general population, including the Delancey brothers, so he doesn't know that."

Sean looked away.

"Sean… Sean?"

"What?"

"What's up?"

"Nothing. Why would anything be up?"

Race rubbed Sean's feet again. "Because you just got that 'I'm shutting down' look on your face." When Sean didn't answer, he sighed. "Tell me."

"Why aren't you out?" Sean still wouldn't look at him.

"Why? Well, because, for one, I have two of the most homophobic parents in the world. They'd either disown me if I came out or drag me off to some center to be deprogrammed or something."

Sean snorted something that sounded like "typical Catholics."

"Hey," Race said sharply. "Are all gays partner-swapping, coke-snorting, whip-toting insatiable sex fiends who are into leather and S and M?" When Sean shook his head, he continued. "Well, not all Catholics are homophobes, either. It's a stereotype. Don't buy into it."

"All right. Sorry," Sean muttered.

Race nodded. "Fine. But anyway, my parents would freak out. Especially my mom." He paused to let Sean cough and blow his nose. "When did you realize you were gay?"

"Wow," Sean said, managing a small smirk. "Serious questions now." He coughed again. "Um, I was fifteen. A freshman. Though I guess I had some idea that I like guys before then – I just never really had a label to put on it. I don't know, I was never fascinated with breasts and looking up skirts like some of the other guys. And there was a guy in my eighth grade homeroom who had the finest ass ever – "

"Finer than Mush's?" Race interrupted.

Sean paused. "Um, it would be a close call. Anyway, I used to check his ass out in class without really realizing it when he stood up to use the stapler or talk to the teacher." He sniffled.

"Were you out?"

Sean shrugged. "No. Not a good idea in the area I was from." He looked down and picked at the bedspread.

Race wanted to press for more details but sensed he was approaching the border of the personal history that Sean refused to discuss with him as of yet. Instead, he told his own story. "I didn't figure it out until I was a senior," he said.

Sean raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?"

"Well, after my junior year, really. I guess I was seventeen." Now he was the one picking at the bedspread. "I'd never really thought about it before then. I mean, I just assumed I liked girls, you know?" Sean nodded. "And then, second semester junior year, an openly gay guy transferred into our school. It got me thinking, I guess. I spent the summer as a lifeguard – "

Sean snickered. "You were a lifeguard?"

Race narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, why?"

"Nothing. You're just so… short. And pale. Aren't lifeguards supposed to be tall and tan and blonde?"

"There you go stereotyping again." Race nudged Sean's knee with his foot. "_Anyway_, I was lifeguarding and I realized that I wasn't really turned on by all the girls in their bikinis, and I started to notice the guys a lot more…" His voice trailed off.

"Especially in their wet swimming trunks?" Sean suggested.

Race grinned. "You got it. So I realized I was gay. I'd almost decided to come out when my senior year started and then –" he bit his lip. "Well, the openly gay guy who'd transferred in? He got jumped in the parking lot one night."

"Okay," Sean said cautiously. "Doesn't that happen to a lot of gays in average high schools?"

Race closed his eyes. "They attacked him with a tire iron. They had to do major facial reconstruction, and as far as I know, he's still in a coma."

Sean winced. There was a long silence, which he broke twice to blow his nose, before he finally ventured, "Not everyone gets gaybashed, Tony."

Race turned bright, burning eyes on him. "My mother approved. She said he got what he deserved."

Sean sighed. "All right. I get it. And it's fine." He rubbed his watery eyes. "I don't have anyone I'd want to tell, anyway."

Race relaxed. "Thank you." He crawled along the bed until he was laying next to Sean. "Everyone who's important knows anyway – our friends here. I don't care about my parents or the people at work. As long as you and I know, and Jack and David and the other guys know, that's all that matters."

Sean slid an arm around him and hugged him to his chest. They sat snuggled together for several minutes until Sean started coughing again, harder, and then Race sat up. "Medicine time." He doled out cough syrup and decongestants, then pushed Sean onto his back. "Lay down. I'll rub some Vick's on your chest." When Sean groaned, Race kissed his forehead again, this time with no trace of awkwardness. "Don't be a baby."

**

* * *

AN: It's really ridiculous how amused I was by the image of lifeguard!Race from this chapter. He'd be so hot in his swim trunks sitting up on one of those tall chairs… uh, I mean he'd be efficient. And responsible. And save lots of lives. Yeah.**


	11. Behind Blue Eyes, Ch 11

**Chapter Eleven**

By the Thursday of finals week, Sean was recovering from his cold. He'd even managed not to pass it on to Tony, which relieved him, which in turn made him want to roll his eyes.

There were familiar voices in the dorm lounge when he returned after his 6:00 p.m. final, and he frowned. He hadn't thought everyone was meeting for their Thursday night gathering this week because of finals, but he was pretty sure that the voices coming from the lounge were Blink's and Mush's.

"Aw, don't go in there," Mush's voice said. "Why do they always wander into those dark alleys alone?"

"Because they're stupid," Blink said. "Maybe the writers make them that way so that we won't be upset when they're killed."

Grinning, Sean headed for the doorway. He stood there, arms crossed, observing the scene: Mush and Blink were seated on the couch, eating popcorn out of a shared bag, leaning their shoulders in toward one another and keeping up a running commentary on the episode of _CSI_ that was currently playing on the lounge TV.

The lingering remnants of his cold tickled Sean's throat, and he coughed.

Mush looked up at him. "Hey, Sean." He glanced back at the screen. "Grissom, you idiot."

"Don't you two have your own TV in your apartment to watch this on?" Sean asked. He stepped down into the lounge – sunken in true 70s fashion that matched the orange furniture and ancient kitchen appliances – and perched on the arm of the sofa where Blink and Mush sat.

"You wouldn't believe how often we get asked that," Blink said, his eyes not leaving the action.

Sean snorted. "Yeah, I probably would."

A commercial filled the screen and the boys looked away, Mush sighing. "Grissom never listens to me."

Blink chuckled and punched Mush affectionately on the thigh. "So underappreciated." He looked up at Sean's smirking face, then cleared his throat and sat up straighter. "Um, we're meeting Race and David to study. They're late," Blink added, glancing at his watch.

"And Race's a dumbass for wanting to meet when _CSI _is on, anyway," Mush said. He waved a hand at a chair. "Sit, Sean, watch with us."

"Gee, thanks – " Sean began dryly, about to point out that it was _his_ dorm's lounge they were in, but he was interrupted by Blink shushing him as the show returned. Sighing, he remained on the arm of the couch, humoring the two fanatics for a few moments. On the screen, a tall brunette's slim hands were confidently dusting the edge of a bathtub for fingerprints. Sean paused, watching. The woman lifted a clear print off the tub and smiled. His lips pursed. The scene flashed to some tech in a lab coat searching through a computer system for a match to the print, chattering away to the woman about finding a match in "AFIS." His eyes narrowed.

"So, what's AFIS, again?" he said, trying to sound casual.

"A fingerprint database," Mush said distractedly. His eyes brightened as a young man with spiky, blonde-tipped hair entered the screen. "Ooh, ooh, Greg. Hotness personified."

Blink snorted. "He wouldn't go for you, anyway."

Mush pouted. "Why?"

"First of all, the guy's straight," Blink said.

"Your gaydar really does suck, doesn't it?" Mush said. "The boy's flaming. He and Nick totally go at it in the storage closets at work."

Blink looked outraged. "Nick? He's straight, too! He's like – an athlete. And he fucked that hooker, remember?"

Mush rolled his eyes. "He's butch, I'll grant you, but the hooker was either an experiment or a cover. C'mon, he said last week that he was an ass man." Blink looked appalled. Mush sighed. "They're gay. They like to have sex with other men – specifically, each other."

"Also, they're fictional characters…" Sean said wryly. He stood and headed toward the doorway, calling back, "See ya," over his shoulder. By the time Mush grunted, "Yeah, bye," he was already out of the lounge and back outside on the sidewalk in front of the dorm, heading down the hill into town.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, he was back in his dorm room, drumming his fingers impatiently on the edge of his desk as he listened to the phone ringing hollowly in his ear. Jack answered on the fourth ring. "Hey, Jacky-Boy." 

"Sean. What's up?"

"I don't know about you," Sean said, "But I don't have comp sci finals until Monday."

Jack sounded confused. "Yeah – no, me either."

"So I'm thinking about having a couple of cold ones, relaxing the rules a bit while Tony's out with Blink and Mush." He drummed his fingers on the edge of the desk. "I hear David's out with them, too." He bit his lip to keep from making the obvious jokes about Jack and David. He needed Jack to not get pissed at him.

"Yeah," Jack said slowly. There was a pause, then the sound of a textbook slamming closed and a muttered "what the hell." "You got enough for two?"

"Come on up," Sean said. He grinned again.

Jack was at the dorm room door in minutes. "Thanks," he said, accepting the bottle that Sean held out. "I needed this."

Sean tipped his head in acknowledgment.

"So," Jack said, flopping down on the futon. "You and Race, huh? How's that going?"

Sean raised an eyebrow. "Peachy. How're you and David – oh, I mean Sarah?"

Jack chuckled, apparently unperturbed. "Sarah's great. She's got this wonderful habit of not giving a rat's ass what I do."

"Sounds like a great basis for a relationship," Sean said, sipping his beer.

Jack shrugged. "It's not like I'm lookin' to get married or nothing."

Sean narrowed his eyes. For a moment – just a moment – something in Jack's phrasing or his tone or his accent had sounded familiar. The Southwest tang had dropped slightly and he'd almost sounded... "What did you say?"

Jack glanced at him, brow furrowed. "Uh, I'm not looking to get married?"

He sounded like a guy who'd been born and raised in Santa Fe. Sean shook his head a little. "Never mind."

"Okay," said Jack uncertainly. He took a long swig of his beer. "Uh… so, what do you think our next move should be with Pulitzer?"

Sean rolled his bottle between his fingers. "Well, I think we need to get the word out to more people. The more people who are with us, the harder it'll be for us to be ignored."

Jack nodded. "We've got a bunch of the students with us from a lot of different departments."

"Maybe we need to work on the professors, too."

Jack nodded again. "I've been thinking," he said slowly, "that when we get back after Christmas break we need to do something to make a stand. Something that gets our names out there, makes the papers."

Sean frowned. "Like?"

"Um… a sit-in? A petition? A strike of some kind?"

"Well," Sean said slowly, "you better make sure before you do any of that that the people who say they're with you really are. That they have what it takes, that they'll stick with it."

Jack nodded. "David said almost the same thing. That it's not a game."

Sean took a long slow drink from his bottle.

"So," Jack said abruptly. "What are you doing for Christmas break?"

Sean shrugged. "Hanging around here, I guess. Maybe I'll see if I can pick up some extra hours at the diner, make some cash."

"I thought you'd be going home with Race," Jack said. He lit a cigarette.

Sean shrugged again. He hadn't really given it any thought – he'd spent every other Christmas for the last four years in an empty dorm, and the Christmases before those in a lot worse places. "Guess not. What are you doing?"

"I'll be with David – uh, and Sarah."

"Of course." Sean snickered.

"Shut up," Jack said, giving him a companionable shove on the shoulder.

"So," Sean said, smirking, "You sleep in his room when you go home with him?" He chuckled as Jack shoved him again and let the conversation flow into a combination of needling each other and discussing classes, exams, their favorite brands of booze and the obscene price of smokes. As he watched Jack head for the door an hour and a half later, staggering just a bit from the number of beers he downed, Sean realized it had been an easy, relaxing conversation. Comfortable, even. He couldn't say he'd felt precisely _comfortable_ with anyone else since coming here but Tony.

"Huh," he said to the empty room, then shrugged. Leaning down, he rummaged around in the bottom drawer of his desk until he found what he had purchased earlier that evening: a brush, a small jar of black powder, and a tape strip.

It was amazing what you could find at a science surplus shop.

Dipping the brush into the jar, he collected some of the dust and swabbed it onto one of the bottles Jack had been drinking from. The powder clumped up on the tip of the brush, smudging along the brown glass of the bottle. He frowned, then sighed. At least Jack had gone through enough beers that he'd have several chances to get the hang of this.

He'd ruined another three possible prints before he finally managed to get the hang of it – he had to rotate the handle of the brush very delicately just _above_ the glass, not on it. When a clear thumbprint finally appeared, he grinned.

A few minutes later, the print was scanned into his computer and he was hacking his way into the government's Automated Fingerprint Identification System – or AFIS. It took a little longer than he expected to get past all the firewalls and access the database; it was nearly midnight when the system greeted him as "Matt Firman" – the lab tech out there somewhere whose dubious luck it was to have the password that the algorithm Sean set up happened to pinpoint first – and began searching for a match to the print.

A key in the lock made him jump, and he quickly turned the brightness on his screen all the way down. Tony entered the room a few seconds later, looking exhausted.

"You look like shit," Sean said.

"Thanks," Tony said dryly. "I love you, too."

There was an awkward moment of silence. Tony cleared his throat. Sean looked away.

"Anyway," Tony said. "Um, I'm going to head to bed. I have a final tomorrow morning, early."

Sean nodded. If he stayed up with his computer, there was no way Tony would really fall asleep – every little noise or change of light would keep him up. And Sean certainly wasn't checking on his illegal search while Tony was awake, so there was really no point in staying up.

Also, if he went to bed with Tony now, it was entirely possible he'd get sex out of it.

He stood and began to shuck his shirt.

Tony looked up. "You coming to bed, too?"

Sean shrugged a little. "Might as well." He let his pants drop and pool around his ankles. "Besides, you look tense. I thought you might like to… _relax_ a little."

Tony quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?" He smirked.

"Hey," Sean said. "No smirking. That's my look."

"Make me stop," Tony said. He let his own jeans drop.

Sean stepped forward. He pursed his lips slightly, then slowly sank to his knees. In a matter of seconds, the smirk was gone – though he had to wait until after the two of them were lying back in Tony's bed, limp and satiated, for Tony to mumble, "You win," sleepily against his neck.

* * *

When Tony's alarm went off at 7:15 the next morning, Sean groaned and pulled the sheet over his head. He managed to mumble "good luck" when Tony kissed his bare shoulder and said he was leaving, then drifted happily in the warm, not-quite-coherent place just between waking and sleeping. It took almost ten minutes for him to remember. 

Jack. The fingerprint. The AFIS search. Oh yeah.

Wrapping one of Tony's blankets around him like a tunic, he shuffled over to his desk and turned the brightness back up on his screen. "MATCH FOUND" blinked at the top of the screen.

"Score," Sean muttered, then dropped into the desk chair as he clicked on the "RESULTS" link. He scanned the page that appeared. "Francis Sullivan, New York, d.o.b., yeah, yeah…" he mumbled, scrolling down to the box that listed "Francis's" criminal record.

"Well, shit," he said a minute later, sitting back in his chair. He stared blankly at the headshot of Jack that filled the corner of the profile, looking surly and pale and underfed. Then he leaned forward again and began some serious research: he'd need the _New York_ _Times_ archives from five years ago, maybe even before then, and he'd have to re-hack into the juvie court records under the name Francis Sullivan. He'd have to decide whether or not e-mail Jax and Belcher again and see what they could dig up – subtly. Very subtly. Poking too much at the people Jack had run with in his previous life would be like poking a hornet's nest with a stick, and dangerous for himself and his informants as well as for Jack.

Did David know about this? Did Tony? Sean dismissed the idea. It wasn't the type of information you shared. And that was precisely why, although he was surprised by how much he wanted to share his new information with his boyfriend, he would be keeping it to himself. "Shit," he said again.

* * *

Bumlets let himself into the back door of his old house quietly, listening. If his former housemates had a party of any kind going on – and it was entirely possible despite the fact that it was the middle of the afternoon on a weekday during finals – he didn't want to be a part of it. 

The house was relatively quiet though, the silence only broken by the hum of the refrigerator. Sighing, Bumlets pulled the door shut behind him and started looking for Skittery. His car had been in the driveway, and Skittery wasn't the type to just go out on a walk.

Wrinkling his nose at the filth in the kitchen, Bumlets headed for the stairs. He was glad he didn't live here anymore. His efficiency was lonely, sure. He'd never really gotten to be as close to Race and Jack and David and Mush and Blink as they were to each other; it had been his sister who'd introduced them. They were generally kind people, and tried to include him, that he knew – he didn't fault them in any way. But he'd spent most of his college years hanging out with his sister (twins were marvelous built-in friends) or the guys who still lived in this house. He'd still be here, joking around with Skittery and watching movies with Itey and Snitch, if the drugs hadn't gotten so out of hand.

Pot made him nervous. Skittery swore that it mellowed him out, kept him from going insane at school, but the only time he'd done it Bumlets had just gotten really paranoid and then had a terrible hangover. He'd never had any desire to do that shit in the first place, really – it could screw royally with your body, and if he wanted a career in dance, he needed his body.

A door opened at the top of the stairs, and Bumlets peered up into the semi-dark, relaxing when he recognized Swifty. He couldn't understand why Swifty was still living here – with Bumlets gone, he would be the only one in the house not using on at least a daily basis. But Swifty was the type who just let everything roll off his back. He wouldn't feel any need to smoke just because everyone in the house was perpetually high; he'd just go about his business and leave them to theirs.

Belatedly, Bumlets wished he'd gotten to be better friends with Swifty.

"Hey," Swifty called down. "I'm glad you're here."

"Yeah?" Bumlets said.

Swifty nodded. "We had some shit go down this morning." He glanced down the hall behind him, then came down the stairs and met Bumlets at the bottom. "Skittery got booted," he said without preamble.

"What?" Bumlets asked. "Like, from the house?"

Swifty shook his head. "From the school. He locked himself in the bathroom upstairs, hasn't been out all day. I've been kinda listening through the wall. I think he's just crying in there, but I hate to leave him alone for long. Especially since the others will be home soon."

"Shit," Bumlets said. Kicked out of the school? Despite the resignation with which he'd watched Skittery and the others grow more and more dependent on their pot, he still felt surprise that it had actually gone this far. "Why was he kicked out?"

Swifty gave him a look. "Why do you think?" He grabbed some books from the kitchen table, brushing crumbs off the covers. "Look, I've got a final to get to. You think you can help him?"

Bumlets shook his head. He really didn't want to get dragged back into this shit – that's why he'd moved out. "No," he finally said. "But I think I know who can."

Swifty nodded, tugging his coat on. "I thought about calling him," he said. "C'mon, if you drive me to my final, I'll fill you in with some details. We can text him on the way and see if he can help."

* * *

"I've figured out why you have trouble sleeping," Sean said. 

"I don't anymore," Race said, leaning up to kiss the edge of his boyfriend's jawline.

They were tangled together in Race's bed again, drowsing lazily in the afterglow of some very enjoyable post-exam sex.

"I'm serious," Sean said. But he couldn't keep his fingers from threading through Race's hair.

"How did my boxer shorts end up on top of the lamp?" Race asked idly.

Sean's answer was wry. "We were in a hurry."

"True," Race said. "I'm probably going to have rugburn on my knees."

Sean shrugged. "At least we made it to the bed the second time." He propped himself up on one elbow. "But I'm serious. I think I know why you can't sleep."

"Hm," Race said. He gently stroked Sean's spine. "So, dazzle me with your theory."

"I think," Sean said, "that you're so involved with your friends' lives and keeping them together that you can't let go long enough to sleep. You're trying too hard to keep everything reined in, to stay in control of not only your life, but your friends', too."

Race sat up. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Jack has a problem, who does he come to?" Sean asked.

"David," Race said.

"No," Sean said. "Jack lives with David, flirts with David, for all I know, cuddles with David at night. But when he has a real problem or something he needs advice on, he comes to you."

"Okay – " Race said slowly.

"And so do the rest of your friends," Sean added.

"Is there anything wrong with that?" Race asked, bristling a little.

Sean blew out an exasperated breath. "No, you idiot, but I think you have trouble letting go of those problems and relaxing so you can rest." Race didn't answer, and Sean pressed on. "What do you think about before you go to sleep?"

Race raised an eyebrow.

"I'm talking nights when you're not with me," Sean said, rolling his eyes.

Race sighed. "I don't know. My friends. What's coming up the next day." He wrinkled his forehead a little. "I don't know. The stuff I've tried to help people with." It was his turn to roll his eyes when Sean smirked. "Great," he grumbled. "This is going to make your head even bigger now, isn't it?"

"Because you screaming my name almost every night and once or twice during most days doesn't," Sean said. He looked supremely pleased with himself.

Race sighed. "See what I mean?" He couldn't help laughing, though, as he gave Sean's shoulder a little shove. "You're a dork. A bigger dork than David."

"I'm a sex god."

Race chuckled and rolled over until he was almost on top of Sean, his leg wedged between Sean's thighs and his chin pillowed on Sean's chest. "Hey, sex god?"

"Hmm?" Sean stroked his fingers through Race's hair again.

"Wanna come home with me for Christmas?"

Sean's expression grew serious, then brightened. "Yeah, I guess," he said nonchalantly.

"I – I can't – " Race took a deep breath. "I can't tell my parents the truth. Maybe sometime, but not now." Sean's face dimmed a little and for a moment, Race hated himself. "But I want you with me for Christmas. Please." His phone buzzed, dancing across his desk top, insistent in alerting him that he had a text message, but neither he nor Sean even glanced at it.

Instead Sean nodded, then slowly drew Race up until their faces were level. With sudden intensity, he pushed their mouths together, snaking his tongue into Race's mouth, running his hands over Race's back.

Race pulled back enough to chuckle, amused by what he could feel growing against his thigh. "Geez," he panted, "you really are a god, aren't you?"

"Shut up," Sean said, and pulled his head back down.

A knock at their dorm room door interrupted them, and Race groaned.

"Ignore it," Sean said as he nipped at the side of Race's neck.

"We really should get it," Race said, but then Sean's teeth closed around his earlobe and he forgot why. He ignored the next knock.

The sound of Bumlets's voice calling, "Race? Are you in there?" brought him back to reality. Sighing, he pulled away from Sean and, after grabbing his boxers from the lamp and tugging them on, went to answer the door.

"Race, I'm glad you're here," Bumlets said. "It's – " He broke off, staring at Race's state of undress. "Um, why are you – " he glanced at his watch. "It's after two in the afternoon."

"Who the hell is it?" Sean shouted from behind the semi-closed door.

Bumlets's eyes widened. "Oh. Whoa. Okay. Sorry."

Race raised his eyebrows.

"Right," Bumlets said. "The reason I'm here." He drew in a deep breath. "It's Skittery."

Race's stomach tightened, but he gave a half shrug, lifting one palm. "Yeah, and?"

"He's been kicked out, Race," Bumlets said.

It had finally happened. "When? How? Why?" Race asked. He closed his eyes. "Did he get caught with pot?"

Bumlets shook his head. "He hasn't been going to class, turning in assignments, taking exams, any of it."

"Great." Race sighed. He was suddenly aware of the chill easing into the room from the hall, and crossed his arms over his bare chest. "So why do you need me? Comforting him's not my job anymore."

"He locked himself in the bathroom of their house and won't come out," Bumlets said. "Swifty said he'd been in there for hours. He won't answer or talk to anyone. I'm worried he'll hurt himself."

There was a long pause.

"Shit," Race finally muttered. "Let me get dressed."

Sean was already pulling clothes on when Race stepped back into the room and closed the door. "I'll go along," he said. He didn't meet Race's eyes.

"Fine." Race nodded.

All three were quiet during the short drive to Skittery's house. Bumlets steered his beat-up station wagon in silence, gripping the steering wheel, his face grim. Sean sat in the back seat, his face set in the stony impassiveness of his first weeks on campus. Race's stomach continued to tighten.

There was yelling and pounding coming from upstairs when the young men let themselves in the back door. Bumlets led them up the stairs. Snoddy, Itey, and Snitch stood in the second-floor hallway crowded around the bathroom door; Snoddy's fist was raised to pound on it again.

"C'mon, man," Itey whined. "I gotta go!"

Snitch was giggling maniacally.

"It's not funny," Itey insisted. "I gotta piss like a racehorse." Snitch just giggled harder.

Race narrowed his eyes. Snitch was tripping on something, and Race was pretty sure it wasn't just pot. Disgusted, he turned to Sean and Bumlets. "Get them the hell out of here."

In a movement so smooth it looked practiced, Sean caught Snoddy's arm before he could thump on the door again and twisted it behind him, then began hustling him towards the stairs, obviously taking no pains to be gentle. Bumlets grabbed Itey's shoulder and began to steer him after Sean and Snoddy; Snitch trailed after them, still giddy.

Race tapped on the door. "Skittery." There was a sound from inside the bathroom – the noise of someone shifting positions, or murmuring, "hmm?", or sniffling.

"Skittery – Skitts – open the door," Race said, keeping his voice even and low.

There was a long pause, then the quiet snick of the lock being turned. Race walked into the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind him. Skittery was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up to his chin, face buried in his arms.

"Are you high?" Race asked shortly.

Skittery raised a red, swollen face to him. "No."

His eyes were puffy, but clear enough, Race decided, and nodded. "You want to tell me what happened?"

Skittery drew in a shaky breath. "You were right. What you said when – well, you were right. I screwed up, Race. So fucking bad."

"No shit." Race's tone held no sympathy.

"Yeah." Skittery scrubbed his hands over his face. "I got booted. I didn't go to class, didn't do any of the work." He stared at his fingernails. "Shit. I can't even remember the last time I paid my cell phone bill or my rent."

"What are you going to do?" Race asked.

Skittery shrugged. "What the hell can I do? I'm done."

Race raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"Well, I can't keep going to school here. I'll never get in anywhere else. I've got no job – " He drew in a shaky breath. "It's over for me."

"Bullshit," Race said sharply. "Yeah, it's over if you're going to sit there on your ass. Get up, stop feeling so fucking sorry for yourself. Go home, ask for your parents' help, get into rehab. Get off the MJ." He narrowed his eyes at Skittery. "Snitch was fucking tweaking in the hall out there. Is pot all you're on?"

Skittery shrugged and looked away.

Race closed his eyes and sighed. "Skitts." He opened them again. "Look, you fucked up. Bad. But you know that. So it's time to get help and try to fix your life."

Skittery looked at him. "It's too late to fix some things."

Race stared back evenly. "It probably is. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try."

"Race," Skittery said. There was a pleading edge to his voice. "If I hadn't fucked up so badly, we wouldn't have – I mean, you and I would still – "

"Don't," Race said. "Just don't." He closed his eyes, abruptly aware that he didn't want to be doing this – why was he always the one who had to be the strong, firm one, who had to save everyone else? Sighing, he opened his eyes. "Look, you can't change the past. There's no way of knowing whether the choices we made back then were for the better or the worse. So just move on." He held out a hand to pull Skittery to his feet. "It's time to move on. To take care of yourself."

Skittery took Race's hand, but didn't stand. "Will you – will you be there? Will you help me?"

Race looked away. "It's probably better if I don't."

Skittery didn't release Race's hand, instead clinging more tightly. "I don't know if I can do it without you," he said.

"That's the point," Race said, tugging on Skittery's hand until he stood. "You need to learn that you _can_ do this without me. That you can do it for yourself." He hoped fervently that what he was saying was right – psych classes were one thing, but this was someone's life that he could be screwing up. "You've got a lot of friends who want to help you," he said, "and a family that's going to be with you, too." He paused, then added, "I know you can do it, Skitts." Then he pulled his hand away from Skittery's still clenching one, gently but firmly.

He turned away and opened the door. Sean was leaning against the wall across from the door, smoking a cigarette with every pretense of calm. When he looked at Race, though, his eyes were hard and a darker blue than usual. Race's stomach tightened again.

Sean was silent throughout the ride home, after Bumlets had dropped them off and they climbed the stairs to their room – bypassing the once again broken elevator – and after Race had shut the door behind them. He didn't say anything when Race came over and sat next to him on the futon.

"Do you want to get some dinner?" Race asked.

Sean shrugged.

Race leaned lightly against Sean. "Do you have a lot of studying to do?"

Sean shrugged again.

"Well, when's your next final?"

"Dunno."

Sean's shoulder was stiff against Race's. Race could feel every bone in Sean's thin frame. He sat up. "Okay, what?"

Sean shrugged again.

"Uh-uh," Race said, his voice rising a little. "Why am I getting the silent treatment?" He moved so he was standing in front of Sean. "Sean," Race said, forcing Sean to meet his eyes. "What's wrong?"

Sean looked away. "What's with you and Skittery?"

It was Race's turn to shrug. "Nothing."

Sean snapped his head around and met Race's eyes, glaring. "Don't lie. I ain't stupid." The Brooklyn in his voice grew more pronounced.

Race sighed. "We used to go out. Freshman, sophomore year. He was – I don't know. It was good for a while."

"Did you…" Sean's voice trailed off and he clenched his jaw, as if he couldn't believe what he had almost asked.

Still uncomfortable, Race looked down. "Yeah. We did. He was my first – well, my first everything. First boyfriend. First steady relationship. First – first time." He clenched a fist by his side.

Sean stared out the window. "What happened?"

Race sighed again. "He was getting into his pot too much. I mean, I don't really care about getting high once in a while." He shrugged. "We're in college. Everyone experiments."

"Did you?" Sean asked.

"Only once or twice," Race said. "As you may have noticed, I have slight issues with losing control."

Sean snorted.

"But Skitts was getting addicted," Race said. "It was obvious. His personality, his priorities, the people he hung around with – everything was changing. So I gave him an ultimatum. Quit, or I would walk."

"And you walked?"

Race shoved his hands in his pockets. "He wouldn't quit, didn't think there was anything wrong with what he was doing. 'Everyone gets high,' you know? I warned him, over and over, and finally I had to do it. I left him."

* * *

Sean closed his eyes. Tony had walked. Of course he had. Why should he have stayed with a guy who obviously had so many problems? He was a good guy – a pain in the ass, but a decent guy. He had a future, potential for being something. There was no reason for him to stay with someone who was so fucked up. No one else would have. 

No one else ever had.

He was dimly aware that Tony was still talking, going on about why he had to leave Skittery, justifying with one breath and telling Sean to say something with the next.

" – I couldn't help him. Jesus, Sean, say something. I didn't want to hurt him, but I couldn't help him, couldn't handle it. God, I didn't even know he was on it until sophomore year. All through freshman year, I had no idea."

Sean snorted. "What, the conviction for possession in high school didn't give you a hint?"

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he knew his mistake. He kept his eyes closed, hoping that Tony wouldn't notice it. Silence filled the room, ringing ominously in his ears. Then –

"What?"

Fuck.

He opened his eyes. Tony was still standing in front of him, his arms folded across his chest. His position meant his biceps were deliciously outlined by his tight grey shirt sleeves, but for the first time in weeks, no desire stirred in Sean.

"Nothing," he said.

Tony' s dark eyes very clearly said, "yeah, right." "Uh-uh. What do you mean, a conviction for possession? Are you sure about that? When?"

Sean sighed. "In high school. Community service, no jail time or nothing."

Tony's eyes narrowed. "How do you know about it, Sean?" he asked, very quietly.

Sean rubbed suddenly sweating palms on the thighs of his jeans. "When I started here, I looked everyone's records up. I didn't know anyone, just wanted to know what I was dealing with."

"Court and criminal records are available online," Tony said, almost to himself. Then he met Sean's eyes, frown lines creasing his face. "But I'm pretty damn sure juvenile records aren't."

Sean didn't answer.

"Damn it, Sean!" It was the first time Sean had heard Tony raise his voice since he had lost his temper the day he'd found out about Crutchy's death. The _only_ time he'd heard Tony raise his voice other than that day.

He stood, paced away from the futon, then turned to face Tony. It had been nice while it lasted, he thought sardonically. Probably the most comfortable two months of his life. He took a breath. "I hacked into the files. Looked everyone up – adult files, juvenile files, credit histories, housing records."

Tony was holding very still. "And what did you find?"

Sean shoved his hands in his pockets. "Skittery'd been arrested for possession. David and Sarah and Specs were all pretty much clean. Dutchy'd had some sort of breakdown. Mush was an orphan, Bumlets and Gabby'd lost their parents, lived with their grandparents. Blink and Del had – had rough childhoods."

"And me?"

"Underage gambling."

Tony lifted his chin a little, then said quietly, "All you had to do was ask – I would have told you about it."

Though he doubted the truth of that statement, Sean stared at the toes of his scuffed Chucks.

"And Jack?" Tony said, still unmoving and quiet.

Sean didn't look up. "I don't – I can't tell you."

"I see," Tony said. "Because?"

"It's not something you should be fucking around with," Sean said sharply. Fuck, if Tony started screwing around, looking too closely at Jack's background – he tried to make the importance of what he was saying explicitly clear. "It could be dangerous for you, Tony. For Jack, too."

"But it's fine for you?" Tony asked.

Tony's vaguely superior tone should have grated against Sean's nerves, but he couldn't manage even annoyance. "I can take care of myself better than you can," he simply replied.

"I see," Tony said. "Is it something that could jeopardize what we're trying to get going against Pulitzer?"

Sean hesitated. "It could," he finally said.

"I see," Tony said again. "So Jack has a history, a past that no one can know about except you, apparently. And you – " He paused, drew in a breath. "You not only think that you need to find out what skeletons are in everyone's closets shortly after meeting them, but you have the ability to do so by hacking into a lot of systems that I would imagine are generally well guarded."

Sean shrugged.

"Tell me why, Sean," Tony said. "Tell me why."

Sean was silent. He couldn't even begin to imagine what kind of answer Tony was expecting.

"Sean," Tony said. Emotion was creeping back into his voice. "What are you running from?"

Sean's head snapped up, a comfortably familiar sneer on his face. "Save the Psych 101 crap, Tony," he said. "I'm not one of your friends crying on your shoulder."

Tony flinched, but persisted. "You don't have to cry on my shoulder," he said. "Just tell me what happened to you."

Sean stiffened. "Look, I don't poke at you about your problems with your mom."

"Yeah, well maybe you should!" Tony was raising his voice again. "We're together, Sean. That means you're supposed to give a damn about the other person."

Now it would happen, Sean thought. Tony would set an ultimatum, the same way he'd had for Skittery: give up the pot or I walk. Give up your secrets or it's over. Like hell that was happening, Sean thought, drawing himself up and giving Tony his best glare. He'd do the leaving before he'd let someone else walk out on him. He didn't need Tony, didn't need his touchy-feely crap and all the baggage that came with a steady relationship. He was Sean Conlon. He didn't need anyone.

"Fuck you," he said clearly and coldly.

Anger and shock warred on Tony's face.

"You think you're so great?" Sean asked. "You've got it all figured out, you're gonna help save me just like you save the rest of the world." He grabbed his knapsack and his keys. "Well, I ain't one of your fucking charity cases," he said. He shoved the keys in his pockets. "So I kept some secrets. You sure as hell didn't tell me everything either. And you shouldn't be judging anyone – you're an insomniac, gambling-addicted fag who can't even handle coming out to his family." He wheeled away from the anger – and what looked frighteningly like pain – on Tony's face and headed for the door. When he was around the corner of the closets and out of Tony's sight, he paused long enough to hiss, "And I don't need you." He didn't bother slamming the door behind him.

**

* * *

AN:** Wow. I know this took a long time to get up, but I hope it was worth it for you all. Blame the wait on school and a broken Internet connection (two weeks without reliable service – yikes!). I appreciate everyone sticking with the story though. I've gotten some really great reviews; it's always good to know so many people are reading and liking my little world. 

As always, love to my betas: Amanda, who always reads first and can be bribed with promises of upcoming snippets; Shannon, who gave me a kick-ass beta this time and isn't afraid to tell me to reign in my adverbs; and B, who always manages to fit me into her busy schedule and who (I recently realized) has my story posted as a recommendation on her web site.

I don't own any of the characters from the movie. Original characters are all mine, though if Disney ever wanted to borrow them to make a sequel, they probably could be bought... for the right price.

Happy Easter, Passover, Vernal Equinox, or Other Spring Holiday of Your Choice, everyone!


	12. Behind Blue Eyes, Ch 12

Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

**Warning: **The language content here is _slightly_ more vulgar than other chapters.

Sean didn't come back to the dorm room that evening, and at 2:00 a.m., Race finally gave up and went to bed. He tossed fitfully most of the night, only getting about an hour of sleep total. When he finally got up in the morning, he grimaced at his reflection in the mirror. A dead white face and heavily shadowed eyes frowned back at him. Okay, he looked like shit. But he didn't have any exams today, so he'd survive. And Sean would be back sometime today, and they'd talk and work out their argument, and tonight he'd be able to get some sleep. He went to his 10:00 a.m. study session, then a 1:00 p.m. meeting with his advisor, then had an early dinner, carefully checking back in between each activity, but the room remained empty.

When Sean still hadn't returned by 10:00 that night, he started calling their friends, trying to track him down. Sean didn't have a cell phone that Race could call him on, but he sent an e-mail, hoping that wherever Sean was hiding out, he was checking his e-mail.

Scenes from their fight kept replaying in his head as he dialed Del, talked to David, hung up with Blink. _You're an insomniac, gambling-addicted fag who can't even handle coming out to his family_. There was nothing in the statement that wasn't true. He was an insomniac, and he was still – despite the best efforts of his parents and his therapist – addicted to gambling. And he was a fag. Race couldn't remember a time when he'd thought girls were attractive. He'd been dealing with a lot of emotions after he'd figured out he was gay back in high school, but confusion wasn't one of them. In the years since he'd come to his realization that he just wasn't like his guy friends, he'd been frightened, sure. Terrified someone would find out and he'd be kicked out or beaten or excommunicated. But confused? Nope. He'd never thought about tits and tiny swimsuits and long, smooth tanned legs, but dear God, he loved a well-muscled arm, the scrape of stubble across his skin, the intoxicating mix of sweat and cologne and precum, the feeling of a large, rough hand jerking him off.

Yup, Race thought. He was pretty damn gay.

But there was something about the way Sean had thrown it in his face that made it seem… not shameful, exactly, but as if he weren't worthy of calling himself gay. He frowned, rubbed his stiff shoulders and neck absently as he dialed the last number on his mental list. Lots of gays didn't come out to their parents – or to their friends or even to anyone, really. Race knew he was lucky in his friends. They didn't judge, didn't care whether the person you slept with had their genitals on the inside or outside as long as you were happy. And while his sexuality was one of his character traits in their eyes, it was never his only character trait. He'd meant it when he told Sean that their friends knowing about them meant everyone who was important knew.

Finally, exhausted and bordering on terrified, he ended his fruitless phone call with Bumlets and stretched out on his bed. Sleep was again elusive. He lay in his bed for hours, watching the pattern of moonlight that slipped through the slats in the blinds as it moved across the blank white canvas of his ceiling. The sheets on his bed bunched in the center and then pulled loose from the sides altogether as he rolled over from his back to his side to his stomach to his other side. He closed his eyes for a while, then got tired of staring at the inside of his eyelids and opened them again. He memorized the pattern of the wood grain on the back of his closet door, and ran psych terms through his head like flashcards.

By Sunday, Sean still wasn't back. Race called down to Jon's office in the morning and reported Sean missing, but Jon seemed unconcerned. Sean had probably just gone off by himself for a while, Jon said.

"No shit," Race answered. "It's the part where he hasn't come back from going off by himself that has me worried."

He drove down to Tibby's after breakfast and let himself in the back door. Susan looked up from the cake she was frosting and frowned at him.

"You're not on the schedule today, are you?"

"Hello to you too," he answered. He boosted himself up onto the edge of the thin counter where everyone's waters and coffees were sitting. "No. I'm not." He fiddled with the cap of one of the bottles. "Listen, have you guys seen Sean at all?"

Susan shook her head. "No. Why?"

Race didn't look up, shrugged.

Lucy entered the room. "Tony! What a nice surprise. How are you?"

"Uh, I'm all right." Now he raised his head, offered a half-hearted smile.

Lucy was frowning at him. "You don't look all right. Are you sick, honey?"

"No. Luce, have you seen Sean?"

"No," she said slowly. "I haven't seen him since last Tuesday when he worked. But Francisco – the night manager, you know – said he stopped by a few nights ago and picked up his check."

Race sat up straight. "When?"

"Friday, maybe? Yes, I'm pretty sure it was Friday night – I think he was mad about having to leave the deep fryer and get the check in the middle of a fish fry night."

"Thanks," Race said. He jumped down from the counter edge.

"What's wrong, Tony?" Susan asked. Her voice was sharp.

Race sighed. "We – I don't know. We had a fight. He's been avoiding me."

Susan narrowed her eyes. "A lovers' quarrel?"

"Suze…"

Susan put her spatula down and walked over to him, put her hand on his shoulder. "It's all right. We know you two care about each other. Any idiot could see that. And when you care about someone, you fight because you only want the best for each other – but everyone has different ideas about what's best."

He stared at her. "It's a little more complicated than that."

"It always is," she said wryly.

"But if you care about each other, truly care," Lucy added, "then he'll be back. It'll be difficult, but I'm sure you can work out what's best for you."

"And if we can't?" Race asked. "Or if he never comes back?"

Susan shrugged. "Then perhaps it wasn't a caring relationship after all and you're better free from him."

Lucy leaned in and kissed his forehead. "Now, go home and rest, sweetie."

Frowning, Race headed for the back door.

When night fell, Race began to overload himself with media, trying to distract himself from the unsettling conversation with Susan and Lucy and at the same time exhaust his mind with music, movies, books, the Internet. It had worked in the past – he could just read or watch TV until his eyes couldn't stay open anymore. The day had been a little fuzzy, but he had still functioned relatively normally. Jack hadn't even noticed at dinner when Race spaced out while he was talking to him – though Dave had squinted at him later and asked if he felt all right. But he had managed; he knew how. His insomnia, though usually not quite as bad as last night, often forced him to work or attend class on limited sleep. He was used to it; he could do it, could keep going when his batteries were nearly empty. But, he also knew that he needed to get a little more rest today, at least four hours. He needed to recharge.

And so he watched a few episodes from the _X-Files_ DVDs Specs had lent him, then _Snatch_, and tried not think about whether or not he and Sean had what Susan and Lucy would qualify as a "caring relationship."

He got up when the movie ended and made himself some nice warm lemon tea with the illegal hot plate Jack had lent him. When the tea was ready, he clicked the TV off and headed for the stereo. He arranged a selection David would be proud of in the five-disc changer: Pink Floyd, Bruce Springsteen, The Doors, The Who, Eric Clapton.

"Rock out." He closed the CD drawer and punched play, then curled up on his bed again with a blanket, a cup of tea, a mystery novel, yesterday's newspaper, two magazines, and three textbooks and tried not think about Sean's voice hissing out that he didn't need Race.

Some time later, he glanced at his alarm clock. 2:48 a.m. He had started trying to sleep around 10:00 p.m., and he didn't need to be up for his last final of the semester until 9:00 a.m. at the earliest. Sighing, he headed for his desk, resorting to the haven for insomniacs worldwide: the Internet. E-mail, games, posting boards, polls, quizzes, movie reviews, newspaper articles, and instant messenger all unfolded before him, and he grimaced determinedly as he opened solitaire – and tried not to think about how long Sean had been gone. He was going to wear himself out. He had to.

He smiled when he saw that Del was signed on to instant messenger.

**Pokerface1219: **hey. what're you doing on so late?

**kissmybass:** avoiding studying for exams

**kissmybass:** you

**Pokerface1219:** eh. can't sleep.

**kissmybass:** have you heard from sean yet

**kissmybass: **race?

**Pokerface1219:** no. i haven't heard anything.

**kissmybass:** i'm sure we'll hear something soon

**Pokerface1219: **yeah. sure.

**kissmybass:** race, sometimes people get… scared. maybe sean needed some time to think

**Pokerface1219:** del

**Pokerface1219: **i can't just sit here, not knowing

**kissmybass: **look, have you filed a missing persons report yet

**Pokerface1219:** jon didn't seem concerned about it

**kissmybass:** i meant with the police

**Pokerface1219: **oh. no.

**kissmybass:** i'll come by tomorrow, we'll go down and file a report, okay?

**Pokerface1219: **i guess. thanks.

**kissmybass:** do you have any finals tm?

**Pokerface1219: **at 10. that's my last one.

**kissmybass:** call me when you're done. we'll go then.

**kissmybass:** and hey, look, maybe he'll be back by then and we won't have to worry about it

But Sean wasn't back by noon on Monday when Race walked out of Ericson Hall and into sunlight that seemed far too bright.

He was sure he hadn't done as well on the exam as he would have if he were rested – he could tell that right away – but the adrenaline kept him focused enough that he was pretty sure he hadn't made a fool of himself.

Now, stepping into the sun, he fumbled sunglasses on and tried to focus his gritty eyes, then dragged his cell phone out of his pocket and punched the speed dial key for Del. When she met him in his dorm parking lot ten minutes later, she took one look at him and held out her hand.

"Give me the keys," she said.

Race frowned. "What?"

"Look, people die from driving while sleep deprived all the time – or they get into accidents that kill other people." She wiggled her fingers. "Come on. Give them."

He dumped his keys in her hand and let himself into the passenger's side of his car. She watched him fumble with the seatbelt, then sighed and reached across him to buckle him in herself.

"Have you slept at all since he left?" she asked.

He squinted at her. The temporary lucidity he'd managed to grab hold of for the morning exam was gone. His brain felt swathed in layers of cotton, soft and impenetrable; trying to figure out what she was getting at was like trying to cut through the cotton with a spoon. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She slammed the door shut and walked around the car to get in the driver's seat. "Look, I'm a relatively intelligent person. I get it. You don't sleep much for the last two, three years that I've known you – God knows I helped you sweep up enough broken glasses at work when your fine motor skills weren't working so well. Suddenly this fall, you start looking rested, not dropping stuff, losing the dark circles under your eyes. Coincidentally, that's when you starting sleeping with Sean." She paused to look at him. "I don't know if he just makes you feel safe or if you're just worn out from all the screwing, but you've obviously been sleeping more – until now."

Race shrugged, then looked out the window.

"Fine," Del said. "You look like shit and smell like you haven't changed your clothes in days, but hey, pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. Let's just go file the report." She started the car, then looked at him and sighed. "At least fix your hair. You look like you just gave someone a blowjob."

Race stared out the window as Del drove, not bothering to use up his energy by trying to talk. The swoop, swoop, swoop of the power lines between their posts fascinated him. He traced their movement with a finger on the glass.

Del handled many of the details at the police station, filling out the report and asking Race only the questions she didn't have answers for. Occasionally she'd toss a question at him, and he'd focus for a minute, pulling his brain back from the dark pool it seemed to be floating in, answer the question and then let himself drift away again. He watched idly as the officer they were talking to typed Sean's name into his computer, then paused, frowning at the screen. He glanced at Del, then said something Race didn't quite catch. Next thing he knew, he was being propelled out of the police station by Del's hand under his elbow.

"What did he say?" Race asked.

Del opened the car door and helped Race inside, buckling him in. "It's not important. They're filing a report. Look, let's get you home."

"Del?"

Del buckled herself in and started the car, then paused. "Race, it's not something – he didn't tell me anything. Just that they'd call with any information."

Race struggled to remain sitting straight up as Del took the turn out of the parking lot too quickly. "But you know something – you saw something? On the screen."

"You can ask Sean about it," Del said firmly. "When we find him. Look, I'm going to call the Dean of Student's Office and report this – maybe Campus Safety, too. Then I'll call our friends, get everyone out and around town, looking. You need to get some rest, though, okay, Race?"

He gave in and let her take him back to the dorm and make sure he got up the stairs into his room safely.

By that night, the fourth night, when he tried to sleep, Race was nearly weeping with exhaustion. He'd begun to see things, shadowy blobs that were always rolling out of his direct line of sight. At other times, little glowing balls of light that resembled Tinkerbell seemed to dart across the room in front of his eyes. Words felt leaden, as though they were tripping over his lips and tumbling like little weights to the floor, and he stumbled over his words more times than he could count.

To his absolute horror, he wanted to cry. He was tired. He didn't know where his boyfriend had disappeared to, and they'd had a fight – their first serious, real fight – right before the disappearance. He felt useless, too tired and lost to even decide what to do next. And he wanted to sleep. He wanted the soothing restfulness of a dark, dreamless slumber. As he sat on his bed and stared listlessly into space – he was way beyond being able to come up with any more activities to occupy his waking hours – tears began to well in his eyes. He wasn't just mentally tired; every inch of his body ached, the pain dwelling deep in his very joints, and even lifting a hand to wipe away the tears that threatened to spill over onto his cheeks felt like a gargantuan effort. His mind flitted about, butterfly-like, unable to stay in one place for more than a few moments, his train of thought disjointed and illogical.

At 3:47 a.m., he was sure he'd already seen birds flying backwards around his ceiling fan and a large black gap of nothingness growing in the corner by the sink. So when he let his head loll to the side and saw Crutchy sitting in his desk chair, he wasn't scared. Surprised, maybe, but not scared.

"Crutchy?"

Crutchy grinned at him. "Race."

"You're dead," Race managed. His tongue felt lighter, looser, like he could talk without stumbling over the words.

Crutchy shrugged. "Death is just a part of life, something we're all destined to do."

Race sat up in bed a little, keeping his eyes on Crutchy. "But… it can't be you. You _died_. It's not – it's just not possible."

"If we fail to anticipate the unforeseen or expect the unexpected in a universe of infinite possibilities, we may find ourselves at the mercy of anyone or anything that cannot be programmed, categorized or easily referenced," Crutchy said, smiling.

Race frowned. That was not a Crutchy-esque statement – cryptic really hadn't been his thing. "Okay…" he said slowly. "Then why are you here? Why now?" He leaned forward. "Why are you talking to me?"

"Almost the whole world is asleep. Everybody you know. Everybody you see. Everybody you talk to. Only a few people are awake." Crutchy's body wasn't see-through, like Race always had figured a ghost would be, but solid, substantial. Opaque.

"So what are you saying? That you're here because I'm 'awake'?" Race shook his head. "No. No bullshit. No riddles. Just tell me straight. Why am I seeing you? What are you doing here?"

"Dark and difficult times lie ahead, Race," Crutchy said. He leaned forward a little, his smile gone. "Soon you must all face the choice between what is right... and what is easy."

Race's frown deepened. Something about Crutchy's phrasing sounded familiar… "Wait, what?"

"You can't leave everything to Fate, Race. She's got a lot to do. Sometimes you must give her a hand." Crutchy's voice was patient, calm – though still the unforgettable nasal tones that Race would have recognized anywhere.

"I don't understand what you're talking about," Race said. "Fate? The changes at school? With Pulitzer?" He lowered his voice. "Or Sean?"

Crutchy shrugged again. "You ever put your arms out and spin really, really fast?" he asked. "Well, that's what love is like. It makes your heart race. It turns the world upside down. But if you're not careful, if you don't keep your eyes on something still, you can lose your balance. You can't see what's happening to the people around you. You can't see that you're about to fall."

He swung his chair slightly and Race saw that he didn't have a crutch or even a prosthetic leg – both legs were whole and healthy.

"Remember, in what's coming, if this – " he pointed to his heart, "is empty, then this – " he pointed to his head, "doesn't matter."

Race blinked. His eyelids were growing heavier, being pulled down inexorably though he struggled to keep them focused on Crutchy. His vision fogged.

"Remember," he heard Crutchy say again. "And all you need is love."

With a jerk, Race snapped awake. The glowing numerals on his alarm clock read 5:06; the dawn was already lightening the sky outside. He shifted in bed. Had he actually slept? Or had that – dream with Crutchy been a hallucination? He groaned as he sat up. If he had, it hadn't helped any. He still felt about three days past being dead. He swallowed against a sore throat and blinked burning eyes, then fumbled on the edge of his desk for his phone.

He called down to Jack and David's room. His muscles were fully awake now and cramping with the unnatural chill exhaustion cast over his body. He could barely see straight, and his tongue felt swollen and useless – he was nearly whimpering when David answered the phone.

"Hello?"

"Dave?" He managed to get the word out semi-clearly. His joints in his fingers where they clenched around the phone were being stabbed with sharp little needles.

"Race? What's wrong?"

He stumbled out a confused and slightly twisted story about Sean disappearing.

David's voice sounded suspicious. "I know. You called on Sunday, and Del called yesterday. Have you been drinking? Or smoking something?"

Race almost laughed. He'd try it if he thought it would help. "No," he whispered. "I haven't slept in almost five days."

David and Jack showed up at his door a few minutes later and proceeded to half-drag, half-carry him down the stairs to their room. He spent much of the day curled up with David and Jack on the creaky old futon in their room and tried to focus on what to do, where to look for his boyfriend. He was freezing cold now, his body succumbing to deep muscular quakes that emanated from his spine outward though David had made him dress – well, had pretty much dressed him like a big doll – in layers of thick pajama pants, a waffle-weave thermal shirt, and a fleece-lined hooded sweatshirt. He'd added two pairs of wool socks, and Jack had tucked a sheepskin and flannel blanket around him when he'd settled him on the couch between the two of them.

He gave up the battle to hold his head up and let it loll onto Jack's shoulder.

Voices drifted to his ears, first loud – David was shouting, in a deep, booming, wrath-of-God tone that they should take him to the hospital – then so softly that they were nothing but a whisper that barely scratched at the surface of his consciousness. Sometimes the voices sped up, and he could hear Jack speaking in a rapid, high-pitched, Alvin-and-the-Chipmunks-style voice to someone on the phone. He caught a few phrases when Jack's voice periodically slowed down: "Really sick… call his parents?..."

The voices slowed and regularized and reality returned for a moment. Jack and David were talking about trying to carry him up to his room. Jack began to lift under his legs; he tried to raise a hand to push him away, but it felt as every bone had been replaced with Jell-O.

"I can walk," he finally slurred out instead. Jack and David stayed right next to him, hands poised to catch him, as they climbed the stairs to the sixth floor – because the elevator was, of course, still broken.

He fumbled and dropped his keys at the door, and Jack bent down to get them, then pushed on the door until it swung open – it wasn't locked. Frowning, Race stepped in and around the closets and saw Sean, standing in the middle of the room in the same way he'd been three months ago, on the first day they'd met.

"Tony?"

"Sean."

"You look like shit," Sean said. He glanced at David and Jack. "What's going on?"

"Where the fuck've you been?" Race asked. He could barely stand, but for a moment, his grasp of reality was crystal clear.

Sean shrugged. "Around."

"Bullshit!" Race shouted, surprising even himself. His words were still slightly slurred, but his voice was stronger than it had been in a couple of days. "You can't just disappear like that for four days! Do you have any fucking idea what that did to me?" He sagged against Jack and David. A tremor shook him and he clenched his jaw and pressed his knees together.

Sean approached warily. "Tony? What's wrong?"

"What do you think is wrong?" Race said bitterly. "I haven't fucking slept in five days."

"Look, Sean, he's got to see a doctor," David said. He and Jack had slipped their hands under Race's elbows to support him. "We were going to put him to bed, then call the Health Center and have them send someone over to examine him."

Sean shook his head. "No. I know how to take care of him. Put him on the bed."

Race could feel Jack and David hesitating.

"Look, just do it," Sean snapped. "If he's not better tomorrow, you can call, okay?"

Race felt himself being guided across the room, then sank down into the soft, comfortable bed. He heard the door swing shut, then felt the bed dip as Sean slid in beside him.

"No – " he protested weakly, but Sean just brushed his hand over Race's shoulder and down his arm.

"Later," he said. "We'll talk about it later. Just get some rest now."

Race tried to argue, tried to lift a hand and push Sean back, but Sean's body was radiating a warmth that managed to reach – finally, finally! – his frozen inner core. His hand nestled in the ridge between Race's thigh and torso, and spread heat from there, too. Race's muscles began to relax, and with a sigh, he drifted into sleep.

Sean was sitting on the edge of his desk staring out the window when Race woke up nearly nine hours later. He didn't look up when Race rolled out of bed, tugged a hoodie over his head, and settled into the desk chair so that he was close to Sean, but wasn't touching him.

He stared out the window himself for a few minutes, watching the sky spit haphazard flurries down. "You want to tell me what happened?" he finally said.

Sean didn't look at him.

"Because the fact that my boyfriend doesn't mind disappearing for almost a week without a word kind of bothers me."

"Am I – am I still your boyfriend?" Sean mumbled, still not meeting Race's eyes.

Some of the anger drained out of Race; Sean sounded like a lost child. Suddenly the confusion that had been swimming inside him since Sean left, the doubt that Susan and Lucy had prompted and the questions of whether Sean cared about him – it all filtered away. "Of course you are," Race said gently. "Sean, look at me." He knew now. He knew exactly what he had to say. He had been unsure, but now he knew.

Sean finally looked up.

"We had a fight. It happens; all couples have them. I didn't like you very much when we fought – and a lot less when you disappeared, for that matter – but that doesn't mean I stopped loving you."

Shock drained the color from Sean's face. "You – you what?"

Race took his hand carefully. "I love you. I love that you drive me absolutely insane and you make me laugh and you don't speak to me half the time. And I need you. I mean, look at me – I couldn't even sleep without you there next to me."

Sean shuddered and closed his eyes. "No one's ever – " He didn't finish the sentence, but Race knew what he meant.

"Well, I do," Race said firmly. "Jesus, Sean, everyone thinks I'm this brilliant, perfect guy. 'Got a problem? Go ask Tony.' And here you are, knowing better than anyone else just how not-perfect I am, and it doesn't seem to bother you at all."

Sean opened his eyes and gripped Race's hand. "I think that's because I love you too," he said.

Race grinned. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Then get down here." Race tugged on Sean's hand until he tumbled down into his lap, then kissed him quite thoroughly. When Sean pulled back slightly, panting, and began to press open-mouthed kisses to his neck, Race sighed. "You know, you can suck on my neck all night long," Sean's teeth scraped against his collarbone and he moaned a little, "God. But I'm not going to forget that you owe me an explanation."

Sean sat up, scowling.

"Ah, there's the Sean I know and love."

"Can't I just give you obscene sexual favors instead?"

"I'll be expecting obscene sexual favors anyway, since we definitely deserve to have make-up sex," Race pointed out. "So no. I want to know why you freaked out."

Sean sighed and laid back against Race in an uncustomary cuddle. "Okay, look, I – my mom – my dad – " He stopped.

"It's okay," Race said softly. "You don't have to go into detail if you don't want to."

"No, I want to tell you. You deserve to know what you're dealing with if we stay together."

"Hey," Race said, putting a hand alongside Sean's face and turning him so they were eye-to-eye. "There's no if, okay?"

Sean gave a half-smile and shrugged, then let his head fall back against Race's shoulder. He was quiet for a long time, and Race just stroked a hand up and down his arm and waited. Finally, Sean spoke.

Sean began reciting in a monotone. "I grew up in the worst part of the city. My dad was a crack dealer, and certainly was never married to my mom; when he tried to split and leave me with her when I was eight, she killed him." He closed his eyes briefly. _The flash of moonlight against the blade, the whistle as it came down, the soft squishy thwack and gasp and moan, and then the blood seeping out to pool around his mother's feet, so dark it looked black instead of red. Think you can fucking walk out on me, you son of a bitch?_

"Jesus, Sean," Tony said. His body stiffened under Sean's, but Sean continued as if Tony hadn't spoken.

"No one gave a shit about my father disappearing; it was just one less dealer on the streets. My mom was a whore and a junkie and was usually too strung out to think about me. Which was okay, because when she was sober, she liked to lock in me in the closet." _The dark, stifling closet, smelling of urine and sex and rot, because that was the way the whole apartment smelled. _He paused. "So that's what – irony or something, right?" He shrugged. "Dave would know."

Tony squeezed his hand and gave him a tight smile.

Sean took another deep breath. "I was there – in the closet – when she killed him. I saw it through the keyhole." He could feel the choking emotions struggle to rise within him, but he could also feel Tony's hand, still gently stroking his shoulder. He fought the emotions down. "I only went to school when someone made me, which wasn't very often. Mostly I spent my time picking pockets or breaking into houses to try to get enough money to buy food. Sometimes my mom would make me run deliveries for the clients she'd picked up after my father died." _You better get the package there in one piece, you worthless little bastard, or you can forget about crashing here tonight._

He shifted a little so that he could tuck his head under Tony's chin; he could see why Tony liked to sleep in this position. He felt incredibly… safe with his face turned in towards Tony's chest and Tony's arms around him, especially when Tony turned his head slightly and pressed a kiss to his hair.

"Just after I turned eighteen, the cops busted into the hellhole I was living in with my mother and arrested her. Fostered me out for a couple months so someone made sure I graduated high school. Then this jackass counselor hooked me up with a program to fund my college education. They call it making reparations or something; it's like the government's guilty conscience for my crappy childhood."

"And you wanted a college education?"

"Fuck, yeah," Sean said. "I've got brains. I knew it was better than the alternative." _You're a fucking waste. You'll end up in jail or dead, just like your piece of shit father. _He closed his eyes. "So here I am. This is my last chance – I got kicked out of the other two schools I tried, and the government's guilt complex only goes so far. If I get kicked out of this one, they won't be funding me anywhere else."

"And the hacking?" Tony asked.

Sean shrugged. "I'm good at it. My roommate at my first school was into computers. I used to play with all his little toys when he wasn't in the room – first because I liked to fuck with him, then because I was actually getting into it. Even read some of his books – before he got me kicked out." He smirked a little. "Didn't like me rigging his computer to show nothing on the screen but gay porn when he turned it on."

Tony raised his eyebrows. "You learned enough to hack into government databases in three years?"

He grinned cockily at Tony. "I know, I'm like a fucking prodigy or something, right?"

"A computer prodigy and a sex god, all in one," Tony said dryly. "Lucky me." He was quiet for a moment and kissed the top of Sean's head again, kept stroking his hands up and down his back. "I'm sure that pointing out that if you're trying to stay funded so you can stay in school, you probably shouldn't be hacking into sealed police and court records would do no good."

Sean smiled a little. "Nope. No good – and would make you sound like David."

Tony chuckled a little. "What about Jack? Why'd you split when you found out about him?"

Sean hesitated. It was still dangerous to tell Tony too much – despite what he'd learned in the days he'd been gone. "He was in a similar situation," he finally said, sitting back a little so he could see Tony's face. "I never met him, but I recognized his name. And some guys I knew remember him."

"Is that where you went?" Tony asked. "To talk to those guys?"

Sean shrugged.

"You're leaving something out." Tony's eyes narrowed. "He's not here on government-funded free ride, is he?"

Sean shook his head slowly.

"Fine," Tony said. "When you're ready, tell me. Or when it's necessary." He released Sean. "Let's go to bed. I'm still tired."

Sean raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Too tired?" he asked before standing.

"Never," Tony said, chuckling.

But when they were in bed, they simply held each other for a few minutes.

"I couldn't sleep without you," Tony finally said quietly. "We need to call Jack and Dave and let them know I'm okay now," he added.

Sean nodded, but neither of them reached for the phone.

"Do you think it's dangerous to need someone else that much?" Tony asked.

"Probably," Sean said. He rolled so he could tug Tony onto his chest and tangle their legs together.

"I had a dream while you were gone," Tony said. "I think it was a dream – or maybe a hallucination from sleep deprivation. Whatever. In it, I saw – someone told me that dark and difficult times were coming. That I would need to use my heart in order to use my head."

Sean was quiet for a long time. "Okay," he finally said, skepticism weighing his voice.

"I know," Tony said. "Prophetic dreams, visions, I don't believe in that shit either. But it was a weird dream. Hallucination, whatever. Realistic. He told me all I need is love."

Sean raised an eyebrow. "Who the hell did you dream about, John Lennon?"

Tony laughed and nestled his head under Sean's chin. "No." His voice was sleepy. "Would be nice if it was true though, hey?"

"Yeah," Sean said. He let himself fall into a comfortable doze, with Tony warm against his side and the lyrics of "All You Need Is Love" filling his mind.

_Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be, it's easy. All you need is love_.

**Here ends Part I. Part II to follow.**

**AN: **The dialogue for Crutchy in Race's dream/vision/ghostly visit/hallucination (whichever you choose to believe it was) was taken entirely from movie quotes, including, in order, _Forrest Gump_, _X-Files: Fight the Future_, _Joe Versus the Volcano_, _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire_, _Ever After_, _Practical Magic_, and _Jerry Maguire_, none of which I own or in any way am profiting from quoting. "All you need is love," is, of course, the immortal wisdom of the Beatles (though it has been quoted in countless movies, so my previous statement stands).

A million thanks to my betas and to all my readers. After a year, twelve chapters, and 167 pages, Part One of Behind Blue Eyes is complete, and I never would have made it if not for Amanda, Shannon, B, and every single person who has reviewed. (Okay, except for that one flame I got.) I hope everyone is reading B's current piece, "Gents and Dames." I also want to plug Shannon (aka cymbalism)'s new fic, "Sharps and Flats," which I happened to be betaing. Both are brilliant ongoing works that I'm sure you'll love.

So. Will Tony and Sean stay together? Will the newsies – I mean college students – win, or will Pulitzer triumph? What's Jack's secret? How will David feel about it? Is Blink really straight? And why does Del hate Blink so much anyway? Find out in Part Two: Looking Through You, coming soon to , The Refuge, and my newly opened LJ… if I can ever figure out how to get it to work.


	13. Looking Thru You, Ch 1

**Part II: Looking Through You**

**Jack and David**

_I'm looking through you,_

_Where did you go?_

_I thought I knew you,_

_What did I know?_

_You don't seem different,_

_But you have changed._

_I'm looking through you,_

_You're not the same._

- from "I'm Looking Through You," The Beatles

**Chapter One**

David groaned as he rolled over and slapped blindly at his buzzing alarm clock, then sat up and rubbed his eyes. Jack's slow, steady breathing filled the sudden quietness. In the warm darkness that enveloped him, it sounded loud, close.

With a sigh, David pulled back the blankets and set his bare feet on the top rung of the ladder, then just sat there a moment, trying to work up the energy to leave the warmth of his bed and climb down and face the new day. _C'mon. Newspaper distribution, then breakfast with lots of coffee. _He continued his morning pep talk to himself: _Class at ten and two, but no meeting tonight. When dinner's over, you can come back and go to sleep at 7:00 if you want to._

Of course he wouldn't actually want to go to bed at 7:00 – by then he'd be wide awake and heading into what, as a night owl, was the most productive part of his day – but the idea that he _could_ be back in his warm, soft bed in just fourteen hours was enough to make him haul himself down and trudge to the sink to brush his teeth.

He let himself out of the front door of the dorm twenty minutes later and scowled at the grey sky. The air was frigid, the clouds sullen and heavy, and the wind kept blowing fine grains of icy crystallized snow right into his face. God, he hated winter. When he graduated he was moving somewhere where the sun shined every day and sixty degrees was considered chilly.

"Shoulda gone to school in Miami," he muttered as a gust sent flurries to sting his face in the exposed inch between his scarf and his hat.

Of course, if he'd gone to school in Miami he never would have met his friends here. Blink and Mush, Race and Sean, Dutchy, Specs, the girls. Jack.

Jack had come home with him – or with Sarah; it wasn't really clear which – for most of winter break. He was the undisputed king of the roost when he visited the Jacobs' household, of course. Mayer discussed politics and sports with him with equal seriousness, Esther fulfilled her role as a proper Jewish mama and tried to feed him at least once an hour, and Les clung to him, begging for rides on his shoulders and games of air hockey in the basement and trips to the park to sled. Even Flicker, the hyperactive little Jack Russell terrier, had nearly peed himself with excitement every time Jack walked through the door. Sarah and David just exchanged exasperated smiles – Jack had effortlessly taken the role of favored child and adored older sibling away from them, and neither was sure if they were relieved or insulted.

The break had been pleasant, if too short. Jack had gamely joined in celebrating Chanukah with David's family, and though he claimed not to adhere too strictly any particular religion, David could tell Jack had been pleased when Esther and Mayer had presented him with a small pile of gifts on December 25th.

Blink and Mush had spent a weekend with the Jacobs as well, nearly sending Les – and Flicker – into paroxysms of delight. They'd also made a stop at Race's, enjoying what they called a ridiculously tense dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Higgins, during which Mush said he had been sure they could tell just by looking at him that he liked boys, and Blink said he had continually put food in his mouth to keep from accidentally saying something about Race and Sean being together.

Another cold gust of wind nearly rocked David back off his feet, and he made an irritated little sound into his scarf – the University Center was still four blocks off. Jack would be able to march along without even a hat on and the top buttons of his coat opened; he was ridiculously warm blooded, and found David's perpetually numb fingers and toes amusing. At least David could count on Race to sympathize if he complained – Race hated the cold weather as much as he did.

Then again, Race didn't seem to be bothered as much now that he had Sean to keep his bed warm. David had stopped by Race and Sean's room the previous night to pick up a textbook and had found the pair sprawled out on the futon watching _Signs_. Sean had been lying across Race's lap, and Race's hand kept rubbing Sean's thigh even as he paused the movie to speak to David.

David hadn't been able to keep his eyes off that hand, stroking up and down, up and down. How strange it must be to trust someone like that, to not mind their hands on you all the time. David had never been so physically affectionate, even with his brother and sister. They were a loving family, sure, but they were more likely to tell each other out loud that they loved each other than to hug. Really, the only person David didn't mind touching him was Jack, but Jack was such an exuberant person it was hard to escape his hands on your back or arms around your shoulders or body fitted up against you while you watched a movie, thigh pressed warmly into yours under the table at dinner…

David stopped that train of thought.

The University Center was now finally within reach, and he sighed as its heat enveloped him. Jack had come back to school a week before David and Sarah, claiming he had some pre-semester reading to do; David suspected he had actually wanted to give the family a little time just to themselves. It was a generous gesture, but as the final week of break dragged on, David found himself wishing Jack hadn't been so generous. Not having Jack around him every day was just – strange. Wrong, even. They'd been living together for four years now, and every year they spent more and more time with each other. They separated for classes, of course, and David's newspaper duties and Jack's job, but other than that, the two of them were together nearly every waking moment. They woke up in the same room, went to breakfast together, met for lunch, had dinner together, went grocery shopping together and studied in the library together, and, thanks to the fact that they had essentially the same social group, spent most of their recreational time together. Add in that Jack was dating David's sister, and David was even along on more than half of Jack's dates.

So it felt wrong to not have Jack by his side as he went about his daily life at home, and when he returned to campus the day before classes resumed, he found himself making excuses to go with Jack to the bookstore and the union and the lounge downstairs.

Not that Jack appeared to mind.

The newspapers were stacked in front of the office door, and David sighed and nudged them aside with his toe as he pulled his key out. The distribution list on his desk showed how many papers went to each rack on campus; David grabbed a stack of Post-Its, a pen, and started counting.

He'd only gotten the stack for the art museum and the theatre set aside when he heard footsteps coming down the hall. He vaguely wondered who else was up so obscenely early, but didn't stop to look up. "23, 24, 25…" he counted under his breath. A pair of wet and heavily battered boots stopped right next to the stack of newspapers he was thumbing, and he looked up and smiled. Jack just smiled back, crouched next to him, and started counting out a stack of his own.

* * *

Jack drummed a beat on his notebook with the back of his pen and stared out the window, bored senseless. It was that lazy part of the day between afternoon classes and dinner or night classes, when David liked to industriously get a head start on his homework and Jack preferred to play video games or nap or keep David from working on his homework.

"So three third-grade girls were walking down the street, a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead," he said, tossing his notebook aside. "Which one had the best figure?"

David was lying on his stomach on his bed, his Victorian Lit book open on the pillow in front of him and a fat orange highlighter in his hand. He raised his head, blinking like he was waking up. "What?"

Jack started the joke again. "I said, three third-grade girls were walking down the street, a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead. Which one had the best figure?"

David stared at him. "I don't know. Is this a joke?"

Jack rolled his eyes. "Of course it's a joke, Davey," he said. "Do a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead ever do anything together in real life?"

David sighed. "Ok, which one?"

"The blonde," he answered.

"Hmm." David went back to his book.

"Aren't you going to ask me why?" Jack prompted. He tipped his desk chair back on two legs, then set it down with a bang.

David dragged his eyes away from his book again. "Why?" he asked.

"Because the blonde was eighteen." Jack chuckled.

Dave smiled weakly. Two seconds later, his attention was focused in his book again.

Jack sighed. It was only two weeks into the second semester, and he was already bored with his classes. Comp sci was a fun major, but some of the support classes he had to take were so easy he was sleeping through them. He may not have been the computer prodigy that Sean claimed to be, but he was good enough to know that he wasn't getting anything else from the classes at USU – really, he probably could have taken less electives and shoved the whole program into three and a half years without breaking a sweat.

"You should study," David said. He never took his eyes from the page he was reading.

Then again, that would have meant graduating early, and leaving school early. Leaving David alone here. "Nah, my classes are no-brainers." Jack tipped his chair back again, then banged it down.

"You shouldn't tip your chair back like that," David said. "You could fall."

"Yes, Davey," Jack said. Then he tipped his chair back again. He was sure David could have survived if Jack had graduated early and moved out, but for all his mothering, Jack knew David needed someone keeping an eye on him, too.

David looked away from his book, caught sight of what he was doing, and rolled his eyes. Jack grinned. David was such a goody-two shoes, a nose-to-the-grindstone, don't break the rules, overachieving know-it-all mouth who was too smart for his own good and would likely give himself an ulcer before he was thirty.

So he needed Jack around to remind him to loosen up, to tell him bad blonde jokes and drag him to parties. It was a good reason to take the full four years and stay at school and in this tiny dorm room with him, Jack reasoned.

Plus, it pushed the real world and all the decisions and danger it implied off for another five months.

"Well, what about Spanish, then?" David broke Jack's train of thought, and he winced. David had him there. He did have an awful lot of Spanish homework he was supposed to be doing. Damn.

"God, I hate Spanish," he growled. "Fucking subjunctive. Sure, they can just go and make up their own verb tense." He tipped his chair back again, but this time his frustration with Spanish fueled his push. Seconds later, he was lying on his back on the floor, on top of the chair. David was watching him calmly, one eyebrow raised.

"Don't say it."

David smirked. "Oh, I do believe that I just earned the right to say it."

Jack groaned. "All right, fine, just kick me while I'm down."

David smiled angelically, then said sweetly, "I told you so."

Jack couldn't help chuckling as he stood and righted the chair. David just looked so damn pleased with himself.

"Oh – and by the way," Dave added, "the subjunctive is a tense in English, too." He turned back to his text.

"The subjunctive is a tense in English, too," Jack mimicked in a high voice. "Damned know-it-all."

"Lazy bum," David answered. "Now be quiet, I actually need to get some studying in here. Otherwise, I'm going down to the lounge, or to the lib."

Jack toyed with the edge of his Spanish workbook, ripping tiny pieces off of it. _Makes me feel like a damned grade-schooler to be using a workbook, anyway_, he thought sulkily. A little pile of shreds grew on the top of his gray metal desk.

He stood up and walked around a bit, going to the window and opening as far as it would go. Not that that was very far – only about a foot. The school claimed the windows couldn't be opened any farther to prevent drunken – or sober, if it came down to it – students from throwing the dorm furniture, that precious school property, out the windows. But everyone knew it was really to prevent kids from jumping.

"Could you shut that?" David asked. "It's freezing out there."

"Sorry, Davey," he said. He slid the window about halfway shut, then picked up the USU sweatshirt draped across the back of Dave's desk chair and tossed it to him. "Here," he said. "Compromise. Stick your feet under the covers if they're cold."

David shrugged the sweatshirt on and slipped his feet under his navy blue sheets and comforter.

Jack returned to wandering around the room. He toed a pile of clothing, trying to figure out if it was his or Dave's. Jeans, boxers, a black T-shirt. He picked up the shirt and turned it right-side out. Che Guevara stared at him – it was his. Not that that was surprising really; Dave had an annoying tendency to pick up after himself. Dropping the shirt, Jack shoved the whole pile underneath his own bed.

"A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead are in a space shuttle – " Jack started.

David groaned. "Jack, I really need to study. I have my first exam coming up."

" – and they're trying to decide where to go next," he continued, as if Dave hadn't spoken. "So the brunette suggests Mars, but they don't want to deal with the Martians. Then the redhead suggests Pluto, but the others say it's too far away. Then the blonde suggests the sun."

David tapped his fingers on the edge of his book. "Okay. And?"

"The brunette and the redhead are like, 'It's much too hot there! We'll be burned to a crisp!' And the blonde just rolls her eyes and says, "Duh, not if we go at night!'" Jack grinned.

"Ha. Ha. Ha," Dave said. "I'm going to leave."

"Oh, don't. You'll do great on the test; you always do. And I'll behave myself, I promise."

David shot him a look of death. "Do some Spanish. Get that workbook page done so we can compare answers later."

Jack sighed, but he plopped down in the desk chair again. He shoved some dirty dishes out of the way – he really should try to scrape some of that caked macaroni and cheese off; it was starting to mold – and opened the workbook obediently. Minoring in Spanish may have been the dumbest thing he'd ever done, but at least David had made the same mistake. It made it easier when you had someone to complain with – and compare answers to.

Ten minutes later, he was ready to pull his hair out. The imperfect tense had been bad, but the subjunctive was a bitch, plain and simple. He put his pen down.

"Hey, Dave."

"Hmm?"

"Want to hear me practice my Spanish?"

"Mmm."

"_Una rubia, una morena, y una pelirroja caminaron_ - "

David rolled over and sat up. "All right, I can't take it anymore." He clambered down the ladder, grabbed his keys and slung on his backpack. "I'll see you at dinner," he said.

Jack shook his head. "Nope; I've got a night class tonight, remember?"

"Oh, that's right," David said. "See you later tonight, then." He hesitated in the doorway. "Want me to get you anything for dinner and bring it back?"

"You're such a little mother," Jack said, but he felt a warm glow in his chest. It was good to have someone watch out for you – it was a feeling he'd been chasing his whole life, and he was well aware of the fact. But he waved David away. "I'll text you if I want something. Now, go on, get outta here, or you won't be able to get anything done."

David grinned and disappeared from the doorway, but the warm feeling lingered even as Jack started packing his backpack up for the night's class.

* * *

Dinner was a cheerful, noisy affair in the Large Dining Hall. David met up with Race and Sean and Gabby and Del at their usual table under the west windows. Specs and Dutchy were there too, Dutchy curled into Specs's side, eating left-handed so he could hold Specs's hand with his right.

Del was leaning in, chatting with Sean and Race about something. From the catches of conversation David heard, it was either work or sex – or possibly both. Her smooth curtain of blonde hair slid into her face, and she tossed it back over her shoulder without stopping the conversation. She was wearing a tight purple T-shirt that strained across her chest, and David studied her for a moment, wondering what it felt like to have the weight of breasts always pulling you forward. How did girls – especially girls as, uh, endowed as Del – stand up straight?

With a shock, he realized he'd been ogling Del's breasts, and yanked his gaze away from her.

Gabby was sitting across from him, smiling at Del's conversation but not adding anything. David studied her face. She was a classically beautiful Latina, like Selma Hayek or Penelope Cruz. She was shy and sweet and even spoke with the slight lisp of a Spanish accent.

And he wasn't attracted to her at all. Or to Del, but, well, really, that had more to do with just plain fear than anything else.

Shaking his head, David ate his spaghetti quickly, clapped Race and Specs on their shoulders, then headed back to the room. When he opened the door, he saw Sarah lounged comfortably on his bed. "Hey, sweetie pie."

David flopped down at the end of the bunk, purposely sitting on his sister's feet. "You picking locks now?"

"Jack let me in before he left for class." She pulled her hair up into a ponytail with her hands, then let it all spill down over her shoulders again. "So, I was thinking about Les."

"Okay."

"You know how he practically passed out with excitement when we were all home for break?"

David nodded. "I don't know who was more excited, him or the dumb dog."

"I'm thinking that he must get real bored being alone with Mama and Papa and no other kids in the house. Maybe it would be nice if we asked him to come visit us for a weekend or something." Now she was twirling a lock of hair around a finger. "What do you think?"

"Yeah, sure," David said. "I guess it does kinda suck that the one of us Mama had to homeschool was the youngest. He doesn't get to spend time with anyone under the age of 47 most days."

Sarah nodded. "That's what I'm thinking." She rolled over on to her stomach. "So, tell me about your new classes. Anything good?"

David shrugged. "Victorian Lit seems boring, but easy. I have Fennerman for Advanced Comp 3, so that'll be a breeze. A dumb math requirement that I let go until the last semester that'll probably end up being way harder than it should be. And my final semester of Spanish, thank God."

"Hm," Sarah said, picking at her peeling manicure. "Anyone good in the classes?"

"Jack's in Spanish with me," David said.

Sarah stopped picking at her nails to sigh at him. "I meant a girl, stupid," she said.

"Oh." David shrugged and walked to his desk, shuffled papers. "I don't know. That Monica girl is in my comp class."

Sarah frowned. "Monica?"

"Remember last semester? Blink and the boob brushing?"

"It frightens me that I actually know what you're talking about now," Sarah said. "So? Is she hot?"

"Eh," David said. Was she? He evaluated. Dark curly hair, big dark eyes, good skin… He turned to face Sarah. "I can't discuss this stuff with you. You're my big sister."

"That's the point. I'm supposed to pull embarrassing feelings and opinions out of you." Sarah tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "Then I tell you way too many details of my own sex life and complain to you about my period."

"Leave." David pointed at the door.

Sarah laughed. "All right, Davey, sorry. Look at your calendar and think about when we may want to have Les visit, okay? Maybe sometime in February before we get too bogged down with projects and stuff?"

David nodded and watched her stand and gather her things.

She left the room, only to duck back in a minute later. "Hey, I almost forgot," she said. "Are you guys going to Blink and Mush's party on Friday?"

David nodded.

"Cool." She smiled. "See you then, kiddo."

* * *

"Did you see David and Jack at dinner last night?" Mush asked. He leaned against the counter in Specs and Dutchy's apartment, waiting for Specs to come out of the bedroom. Dutchy was flopped down on the dilapidated old couch, cleaning the lens of one of his video cameras.

"What specifically?" Specs called.

Mush opened the cabinets and started stacking up bowls. "I don't know. David hangs on every word Jack says. I'm just gonna take your bowls for snacks, okay?"

"Yeah," Specs said. He came out of the bedroom, looking amazingly good in jeans and black button-down shirt.

Dutchy looked up from his camera. "You took forty minutes to pick that out?"

Specs frowned and looked down at himself. "The jeans are designer," he said.

Mush laughed. "You're such a queer."

Dutchy stood and walked over to him. "Never mind, baby. Don't worry. You look hot." He kissed Specs gently, then more insistently.

Much cleared his throat. "The party? Remember? Leaving the apartment? You can come back and fuck like bunnies when it's over."

Specs grinned. Dutchy pouted.

Much rolled his eyes and herded them towards the door.

"So," Specs said, once out in the hallway as he paused to lock their apartment door. "Do you think Jack and David do?"

"Do what?" Mush asked distractedly, counting the bowls in his hand. He held up a purple one with little stick figures in various sexual positions on it. "Where'd you get this one?"

"Porn store," Dutchy answered at the same time Specs said, "Fuck like bunnies."

"Shit," Mush said. "Do not put such images in my head. Ever. Ew." He paused. "Maybe."

Dutchy nodded. "David's gotta be queer. He trips my gaydar like fucking crazy."

Specs nodded. "He does like romantic comedies."

"And he uses hair products," Mush added. When the other two raised eyebrows, he nodded sagely. "I've seen his bathroom basket. De-frizzer _and _gel."

"But Jack?" Specs asked.

The other two shrugged. "Closeted?" Dutchy offered.

"Like Abe Lincoln," Specs said, laughing.

"Like Cary Grant," Dutchy agreed.

"Like Tom Cruise," Mush said.

The other two burst out laughing. "Honey, there is no one who doesn't know that that man is gay," Dutchy said. "His is a see-through closet."

Mush frowned as they entered his apartment. "Not _everyone_ knows that."

Specs glanced over to where Blink was setting up amps. "Hey, Blink. Tom Cruise's sexuality?"

"Gay as a fucking maypole," Blink called without looking up.

"See?" Dutchy said.

"So Jack's more Cary Grant and less Tom Cruise?" Mush said.

Specs laughed and took the bowls out of Mush's hands. "Don't tell him that. His head's already big enough." He grabbed Dutchy's hand. "C'mon, babe. If you help me fill up the snacks, I'll save a nice big pretzel rod for you."

Blink's response to that little tidbit – "I've got to be the only straight guy in the world who hears stuff like that on a daily basis" – and the laughter surrounding it were broken by the arrival of the first guests.

* * *

By 9:00, Blink and Mush's apartment was packed, as usual. David herded Jack towards Race and Sean before Mush was able to point out the keg in the bathroom tub, hoping to delay the inevitable for a while. When Race got him involved in a discussion about their respective jobs, David wandered away and found himself a corner of the couch where he sat, smiling at people he knew, munching on pretzels, and tapping fingers against his thigh in time with the song Blink was crooning into the microphone. Del was wearing some weird white vinyl top that was split into a deep V between her breasts, and Swifty was going nuts on the drums tonight. A girl he didn't know asked if he wanted to dance, but David waved her away. He watched Jack work the room, moving from group to group, talking to everyone. He was so outgoing, David thought, so extroverted, or friendly, or something. Charismatic, he finally decided. Essentially everything David couldn't manage to be in social situations.

Sarah sidled up next to him and handed him a drink. "It's just Coke," she said when he looked at her. "No rum." Her eyes followed Jack as he paused to talk to a slender redhead, tuck one of her curls over her ear for her.

"Okay?" David asked her.

"Sure," she said. "I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to get used to it," David said. Jack was his best friend, but for a tiny moment, David hated him.

"Oh, honey," she said, turning to put a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right. It really is. I know in a perfect world I would have fallen in love with my brother's best friend, but that's not what happened. It's just not. We enjoy ourselves together, that's all."

David mock-shuddered. "And I shouldn't have to hear stuff like that, either."

Sarah chuckled. "Face it, little brother. We're all grown up. Next thing I know Jack'll be knocking on my door asking if he can stay the night because you've locked him out of your room so you can have your wicked way with some girl."

"Ah, Sarah! God!" David winced. "We already talked about this!"

She laughed and leaned companionably against him.

The band had played its first set and was taking a break when David saw Sean drop a hand on Race's back, and then get up and head for the door.

"Hey, I'll be right back, okay?" he said to Sarah.

She smiled. "Sure, kiddo. I'm going to go get a drink anyway."

Sean was leaning up against the inside of the doorway to the apartment building smoking a cigarette when David walked out, pulling his coat around him. He just raised an eyebrow when David leaned against the wall next to him.

"Three months ago you would have just done that inside," David said, waving a gloved hand towards the cigarette.

Sean shrugged. "Tony says Blink's trying to quit, so they're not smoking inside anymore."

"Yeah," David said. "And three months ago you still would have done that inside." He burrowed a little deeper into his wool coat. "And told Blink to go fuck himself."

"You got a point?" Sean asked. He took a long drag.

"Yeah," David said again. "Race was sick when you disappeared – I mean sick to death with worry, but really, seriously, physically sick, too. He probably should have gone to the hospital. He shouldn't be that dependent on you. I get that you've 'changed' or whatever – I can see you're at least making an effort. But no one should be that dependent on someone else. It's not healthy – and it's dangerous."

"You got a big mouth, Davey," Sean said, but it wasn't threatening, just a statement of fact.

David nodded. "You bet. And I won't lie – you scared the shit out me when you started here." He glanced sideways at Sean. "Still kind of do. But Race being just broken like that again scares me more. So you better believe that if you fuck up like that again, we'll be having a much less pleasant discussion. And I sure as hell won't be encouraging him to forgive you."

Sean looked at him measuringly. "Tony makes his own decisions."

"Sure," David said easily. "But we're a family. We all look out for each other and stick our noses in each other's business and give lots of unsolicited advice. And if you think they don't all listen to my advice, you not as smart as I gave you credit for."

Sean looked away and leaned back. He was quiet for a moment. "I'm not planning on hurting Tony," he finally said lowly.

"Good," David said. "Don't."

Still staring off into the dark night, Sean frowned. "You don't have a thing for him, do you? This isn't some weird thing where you're hoping you'll get to pick up the pieces, is it?"

"No!" David said. "God, no. I'm not into Race. You're safe there."

Now Sean looked directly at him. "It's interesting, Dave," he said. "Interesting that you said 'I'm not into to Race,' instead of 'I'm not into guys." He tapped his ash. "That's what most straight guys would have said.

David held his breath. "Well, maybe I'm not most guys," he finally said.

"Hm," Sean said. A smirk edged across his face. "Maybe you're not straight, either."

David looked down, shoved his hands in his pockets. "I don't know what I am," he finally said.

Sean nodded. "I get that." He dropped his cigarette and ground it out. "Does Jack know?"

"No," David said sharply. "And I don't want him to."

Sean raised an eyebrow.

"Just – just leave it, Sean, okay?"

"Sure, Mouth," Sean said.

Some of the tension drained out of the air and David laughed. "God, do you always have to get the last word?"

"David?" called a female voice from a few yards out in the darkness before Sean could do more than smirk.

David squinted into the night. "Yeah?"

Monica stepped into the light. "Monica?" David asked, surprised – she hadn't been at any of Blink and Mush's parties in the past that David knew of. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here," she said. "On the first floor. I'm glad I ran into you, though – I was just going to go in and call you."

Sean snorted. "Davey's got a girlfriend," he said under his breath. "What's Jack going to say?"

David glared at him. "Shut up," he hissed. He turned back to Monica. "Go ahead – what's up?"

"Have I got a story for you, Chief," she said. "Pulitzer and the Board of Directors just voted to eliminated or downsize every liberal arts program from this school."

David stared at her. "What does that mean?" he asked.

"That means theatre, English, history, philosophy, theology, all the visual arts – they're all being worked out of the school in favor of the sciences, computers, and business."

"I don't understand," David said. "How do you know this?"

"I told you I work in the President's office," Monica said. "I was at the meeting as a note-taker. It just ended."

"Shit," David said. He looked at Sean, who was silent and stone-faced again. "I have to – we need to tell everyone at the party, and then I've got to tear the front page apart and call some of my reporters – I'll have to see if I can get an interview with Pulitzer – " he turned and headed into the building without glancing behind him to see if Monica and Sean were following, then hurried up the stairs and into the crowded apartment.

As soon as he made it inside the door, he started looking around for Jack – he'd have some idea how to organize the student reaction. Eventually he saw Jack pushing through the crush of bodies. He came to stand beside David, glancing quickly at Monica and Sean, then back to David's troubled face. "Davey? What's wrong?"

"This is Monica," David said, pulling her forward a little. "She works in the President's office. She just told me – well, tell them, Monica."

Sensing some sort of excitement, other partygoers began to gather round. Race pushed through the crowd and stood near Jack and Sean. Sean draped an arm around Race's shoulders and gave David a "see, I can be a good boyfriend" look – or maybe it was a "he's my man and you're not getting me away from him" look. David took a second to roll his eyes.

"What's going on?" Race asked.

"Dave's friend here apparently has something important to tell us," Jack said.

Monica cleared her throat and said loudly, "Pulitzer and the Board voted tonight to eliminate the liberal arts curriculum here at USU in favor of more useful and practical curriculum like computer science and business."

"Wait – why would they do that?" Mush asked.

"They can sell business degrees better than degrees in philosophy," David said slowly. "Think about it. Right now the business and science schools are booming – the arts, not so much."

Race shook his head. "Business degrees are a dime a dozen."

"Exactly," Sean said.

David nodded. "There's a demand right now." He looked at Monica. "When are they doing this?"

"They want to implement the changes over the summer," Monica said.

Someone further in back in the crush of bodies spoke up. "I'm safe then. I graduate this year."

"You idiot," Monica said. "Nobody's _safe._"

"She's right," David said. "Even if you finish your degree here, what kind of value will it hold if it comes from a school that no longer even has your department? And what about the juniors and sophomores and freshmen?"

"There's really nothing we can do about it, though," Blink said.

"He's right," Race said. "Pulitzer's got the power."

Jack spoke up, his voice slow but carrying. "Not really. We pay him for our educations. If we were to protest somehow, show that we don't approve – "

"What do mean, like a strike?" David asked.

"Yeah, like a strike," Jack said. "We get all the other students on our side, and as much of the faculty as we can, too."

"Most of them are already steamed with the tenure problems," Specs called out.

"We gotta get it in the papers," Jack said. "Get it out there, let our voices be heard."

"Jack – " David said. He could feel nervousness building in his stomach. "Jack, they could kick us out. We could lose all the classwork we've done, our degrees."

Jack put hands on his shoulders, pulled him in close. "But you're still with me on this, right, Davey?"

David watched Jack's earnest brown eyes as they searched his own face, then sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm with you."

"How 'bout the rest of you?" Jack called as he wrapped an arm around David's shoulders. "You with me?"

"Yeah!" cried the crowd.

"All for one and one for all," David murmured, and prayed to whoever was listening that he wouldn't regret this choice.

* * *

**AN:** Woo-hoo! It took forever, but here it is – the first chapter of part two. I'm going to keep posting this as part of BBE so people who signed up for story alerts on that story will keep getting them; I may change it into a separate story later when it's completely done and I'm archiving it.

A million thanks to cymbalism, who put up with far more drafts of this chapter than there should have been. I don't know why I was so hung up, but she was infinitely patient and read and commented until I finally looked at the story, went, "Oh! There's my problem!," and fixed it. Hopefully I won't be so dense next time!


	14. Looking Thru You, Ch 2

**Looking Thru You, Ch. 2**

**Disclaimer:** Disney's, not mine. Like so many wonderful, money-making things.

It was still dark out when Race quite suddenly woke up, courtesy of Sean's elbow catching him in the ribs.

"Oof." He rolled away from Sean's flailing limbs and swiped his hair back from his face. Sean was tossing and turning, and making a sound that could, if it had come from any other person, have been classified as a whimper.

"Shit," Race muttered. He reached out to shake Sean awake, then thought better of it; if Sean was having a nightmare, he was liable to come out of it swinging at whoever was nearby. He called Sean's name instead, leaning as close as he dared. "Sean. Sean."

Sean sat up sharply, gasping, looking around as though he weren't sure where he was.

"Sean," Race said again. "Look at me." When Sean stared at him blankly, he added, "It's Tony. You're in our dorm room." Sean relaxed slightly, and Race kept talking. "That's right. It's just you and me, in our bed. No one else. You're all right." Some more of the tension left Sean's body, and Race dared to reach out and touch his shoulder. Sean jumped a bit, but didn't pull away. "Okay? You're all right." He continued murmuring nonsense as he let his hand stroke up and down Sean's arm.

Sean slumped forward, closing his eyes. "Sorry."

"Not a problem," Race said. He stroked his hand up and down, up and down, rubbing Sean's shoulders, arm, back. He scooted himself in closer and rubbed the other arm, then kissed his shoulder gently. "Want to tell me about it?"

"Not really." Sean was quiet for a long moment, then rolled slowly so he was facing Race. "Sorry," he offered quietly. "I just don't want to…" His voice trailed off.

"It's okay," Race said. He reached up and combed his fingers through Sean's hair, then smoothed the pad of his thumb down Sean's jawline. Sean's eyes stayed steadily on his, even as he slid closer and pressed a closed-mouth kiss to Sean's lips.

"Sean," Race whispered softly. He let his hands drift down, stroking along Sean's long, lean muscles, his fingers tracing terribly gently over the dip of his hip bone. Sean's eyes finally drifted closed as Race kissed along his jawline, down his throat and along his clavicle. Sean tried to turn then, trying to roll them and take control, but Race gently pressed him back. This was for Sean.

He nudged Sean gently, and he rolled onto his stomach with only a slight hesitation. "It's okay," Race murmured. "You're okay." He was hard, but almost didn't notice it – he wanted this to be about Sean.

When Sean had settled onto his stomach, Race leaned over him and kissed the nape of his neck. He moved his mouth slowly down Sean's spine, dwelling on each vertebra, laving each dip and ridge with lips and tongue. Underneath him, Sean's hips rolled into the bed and he made a soft sound. Like the little noise he'd made in his dreaming, it was almost a whimper, but this time he sounded as though he were choked by his own desire.

"Love you," Race whispered. He let his hands slide up along Sean's sides, stroking him, rubbing strong thumbs along Sean's shoulder blades. "Love being with you." He saw Sean's hand fist in the sheets and felt the glow of pride warming him.

When his hands and mouth reached the swell of Sean's ass, he heard Sean sigh, "Tony. Please."

"Please what?" Race asked lowly. When Sean just moaned, he traced a finger along the cleft.

"Yes," Sean hissed.

Race let his finger press a little harder. "You sure?" They'd never switched roles like this; Sean was the top and he was the bottom, and that was the way it had been every time so far. They had always been comfortable, right in those roles. But he was surprised by his own sudden urge, to protect and claim, to shelter and own, to care for and mark as his own.

Sean moaned again and pressed back against his hand. "Yes," he said.

"Then roll over," Race said. "I want to see you."

He fumbled for a condom and lube while Sean obeyed, and when Sean was on his back, facing Race, their eyes met. For a minute, Race just kept the contact, rubbing down Sean's thighs with gentle strokes, lacing their fingers together and caressing his hands. When Sean began stir restlessly, his hips jerking up, Race leaned forward, angled himself, and slowly began to slide in.

Sean drew in a breath, and Race paused, aware of how tight his boyfriend was. "Okay?" Race asked.

"Yes," Sean said tightly. "God. Don't stop."

Race moved forward again, and soon he was setting a rhythm. It was slow at first, careful and painstakingly slow; even as Sean began to thrust back, he kept a leisurely pace, deep and unhurried. He changed his angle and leaned closer so he could kiss Sean, brushing his lips over every inch of his face. They went on and on, the pleasure building and throbbing between them, until it seemed as though they had always been joined like this, wrapped together with the endless night enfolding them like a dark blanket.

When Race came, he was almost surprised. Underneath him, Sean let out a moan that was almost a sob and followed, then pulled down on his shoulders, drawing him in close. "Love you," Sean panted in his ear, wrapping his arms more tightly around Race's shoulders. "Love you."

They slept curled together, Race still half on top of Sean. Race woke first, and watched Sean's face until he stirred.

"Hi," Race murmured.

A smiled ghosted across Sean's face. "Hey."

"Feel okay?"

"Mm-hm. Good," Sean said. He laced their fingers together. "Tony?"

"Yeah." Race was watching Sean's eyes blink sleepily, fascinated by his long lashes and those lovely, high cheekbones.

Sean took a deep breath. "I have to tell you something. About Jack."

* * *

A few floors below them, David was watching through sleepy eyes as Jack dressed for the day.

" 'S early," he mumbled. "Why're you up?"

Jack jumped a little, then finished buttoning his jeans and looked up. "We're meeting with everyone to plan what we're going to do tonight, right?"

"Mm," David agreed. He pulled his quilt over his shoulder and snuggled down into his bed.

"I've just got some things I need to get done today," Jack said. "I wanted to get them out of the way."

David struggled to sit up, the quilt still wrapped around him. "I'll help."

Jack grinned at him and stepped closer to shove him back down gently. David got so few chances to sleep in – no way Jack would deny him his Saturday morning. Even if he had wanted company for his errand this morning – and he didn't. "Nah. Sleep, Davey." He let his fingers comb through David's curls, lingering a minute when David smiled sweetly at him. A tendril of warmth tickled his groin, he pulled back, confused.

_What the fuck was that?_ Jack drew back a bit more sharply than necessary, grateful that David's eyes were already closed and his breathing starting to even out again. Frowning, he grabbed his coat and keys and headed out the door, shaking his head. _I'm jumpy today_.

At this hour of the morning, there was no one else in the computer lab but the student attendant – who was sleeping with his head down on the desk when Jack slipped in and booted up one of the 

computers in the back row. He signed in with a fake name and password – he was good at covering his trail, but it didn't pay to take chances – and cracked his knuckles. "One more semester to pay for," he murmured.

It took longer than usual to get his tuition… squared away, and by the time he stepped out into the brightening day, it was already going on 7:30. Jack sighed and stretched, glad that he didn't have any morning classes for his last semester – he rarely saw this hour of the day, even during the week. David did, and it was killing him, especially in combination with the late nights for the newspaper. Actually, Jack thought, maybe he should swing by Starbucks and get David some coffee and a muffin or something. He could get them back to the room before David woke up for the day, bring him a little pick-me-up. That would please David – and if he was still in bed, he'd give Jack that sleepy smile, his hair all mussed up… just like he had earlier this morning. Jack remembered that fluttering in his stomach this morning, confusion warring with a touch of fear and guilt. What the hell had that been, anyway? He'd been almost –

_Nothing_, he told himself. It had been nothing. He spun on his heel, leaving Starbucks behind him, and headed for the girls' dorm. Maybe Sarah would grab some breakfast with him, if she was up.

Sarah was indeed already up when he stopped by her dorm room. He could see her over Teensy's head, rifling through her bureau drawers, when Teensy opened the door for him.

"Hey, Teens," he said offhandedly as he stared a little, noting that his girlfriend was wearing only jeans and a bra.

"Hi," she mumbled. He glanced down, then straightened up when he got a good look at her. Her face was haggard and had a vaguely greasy shine to it, and her hair – not only was it limp, but it was the same neon orange it had been last time he'd seen her, with about an inch of dark roots showing. He tried to remember if he'd seen her since Christmas break. Sarah had mentioned she'd been studying like crazy for the GREs, he thought, and she'd been out of their room a lot, always at the library when he stopped by. He hadn't really objected to him and Sarah having the room all to themselves pretty much whenever they wanted.

Teensy moved out of his way, going to her bed and curling up around one of the pillows. He shrugged it off. He'd have to remember to ask David, or maybe Race. They probably knew better than he did if something was going on.

"Hey, girl," he whispered, coming up behind Sarah and slipping his arms around her bare waist. He kissed her neck. "Want to have breakfast with me?"

She turned in his arms and smiled at him. "Sure." She gave him a quick peck on the lips. "Where are we going?"

"Tibby's okay?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "We're going somewhere off-campus?" At his nod and shrug, she adopted a stern expression. "All right, what did you do?"

"What are you talking about?" he said. A tiny ball of nervousness formed in the pit of his stomach. He _hadn't _done anything recently… had he?

"I'm kidding, babe," she said. She stepped away and grabbed a pinkish shirt from her open dresser drawer, then picked up her coat and purse. "Let's go."

Del gave him one of her looks – the ones that should have gotten her a job interrogating prisoners of war – when he and Sarah slipped into a booth at Tibby's. She made her way to their table with her coffee pot and smirked as she filled their cups. "So, Sar," she said. "What'd he do?"

"Hey," Jack protested, ignoring a vaguely unsettled feeling in his stomach. Didn't anyone think he ever just did something nice for his girlfriend? "I didn't do anything! We're just having breakfast!"

Sarah just smiled when Del raised an eyebrow at her. "It's true."

"Huh." Del slapped two menus down on the table. "Special's a Denver scramble or the cinnamon waffles. Orange juice is fresh. I'd avoid the cinnamon rolls – I saw Morris drooling over them before." She cocked her head. "He may have dripped."

Sarah made a face. "You are the most charming person I know, Del."

Del's grin flashed brightly. "Don't I know it, though. I'll send Race out to get your orders in a few minutes."

Sean approached with their water. "Jacky-Boy. Nice of you to bring the girl out." He nodded at Sarah. "What'd he do?"

Jack groaned. "I didn't do anything to her. What do you people think I am? I _don't _do anything to her." Sarah groaned. Seeing Sean's smarmy grin, he hastily added. "Anything bad, I mean. I didn't do anything bad! It's good – I mean, anything I do to her is good."

"Well, that's one person's opinion," said Race, coming up behind Sean. "We'll have to see whether Sarah agrees or not."

"I lied," she said. "Del's not the most charming person I know. It's a tie. I think you three share a brain or something."

Sean snorted and walked away.

Race turned back to the table. "So, what'll it be?" His eyes met Jack's briefly, then flicked away, focusing intently on Sarah.

Sarah ordered a fruit bowl and a muffin, and Jack chose the Southwestern skillet. "Right, then," Race said, scribbling on his pad. "I'll put that in." He hesitated a moment, though, frowning at Jack and tapping his pen against his knuckles.

"Um… okay? Sounds good," Jack said, a little confused. He glanced at Sarah when Race finally walked away. "What's his deal today?"

She looked a little confused herself. "I don't know." Her eyes followed him as he approached the busing station where Sean stood, watching. Their heads bent together and the pair whispered back and forth. They both looked up and straight at Jack at the same time, then quickly glanced away when they saw him watching them. Finally, Race took a quick look around and then reached to squeeze Sean's hand. Sean flashed a fast but brilliant smile at him, then turned back to the dishes he was sorting as Race began entering his order on the computer touch screen.

Jack sighed and slid back on the sticky vinyl of the booth seat. Something was going on – he just hoped it had nothing to do with him. _One more semester_, he reminded himself. _Stay under the radar for one more semester_.

* * *

Del was watching Race and Sean from her hostess station, too, eyes narrowed suspiciously. When Sean made his way to the kitchen door, untying his apron, she glanced over the dining room and, confident that it wouldn't fall apart in four minutes, fell into step behind him. She followed him right out the back door, pushing past him when he saw her and paused. The door swung shut behind them.

He pulled a package of cigarettes from his pocket and shook one out.

She held out a hand. "Lemme bum one."

He frowned at her. "You have your own."

She shrugged. "I left them inside. So, c'mon, gimme me one." When he just stared at her, she sighed. "Yeah, the glare of death so doesn't work on me, buddy. Just give me the fucking cig. I'll pay you back later."

He handed one over and she tapped it on her palm, then held a hand out for his lighter. He grunted in annoyance and tossed it to her.

Drawing in a long, easy breath, she let the nicotine hit her and rode the wave. "So," she said after another three or four drags. "You gonna tell me what the fuck is going on?"

She watched Sean closely, but his expression didn't shift. "What're you talking about?"

"Something's up," she said. "You and Race are being weird today." She blew out a stream of smoke. "He's all fidgety. He dropped the silverware three times when we were rolling it up."

Sean shrugged. "He gets that way."

"Yeah," she said, "when he doesn't sleep. Is he not sleeping again? Are you guys fighting or something?"

Sean shook his head.

"And then there's you," Del said, still watching him closely.

"What about me?"

"You're being all brooding and dark."

"I'm always brooding and dark," Sean said.

Del rolled her eyes. "Yeah. You're freaking Jason Bourne. Something's going on – what did you guys do last night?"

Sean flicked the ash from the end of his cigarette. "Fucked like bunnies."

She wasn't going to be deterred that easily. "Before that."

He smirked. "More of the same. You?"

She scowled. "No. Unfortunately."

"Aw," he said, his voice laced with mock sympathy. "Mush wasn't free? Or wait – is it Blink you want to screw? I'm confused."

Smiling sweetly, she stepped closer to him. "I'm not going to be distracted that easily." She very deliberately ground her cigarette out beneath her toe, watching him. Pointedly.

"Oh no. I'm afraid," Sean said in a bored tone.

She snorted and turned to head back inside, then paused. "Look – you'd tell me if it was something big, right? I mean, if it was a real problem."

It didn't escape her that Sean hesitated before he nodded. "Yeah. Sure."

"All right," she said. "Then I won't drag it out of Race. I'll let it go – for now."

Sean stomped out his own butt. "He keeps secrets better than you'd think," he said.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I'm sure he hasn't told you, for one, everywhere we've screwed."

Del sighed. "Because I'd really want to know that." She paused with her hand poised to knock on the back door. "Anywhere good?"

Sean smirked. "Let's just say you'd never look at the back storage room the same way."

She felt a chuckle bubbling up, but repressed it and gave him her best haughty look. "Please," she said as Oscar popped the door open for them, "who hasn't done it there?"

* * *

Jack was standing on a chair along one wall of Blink and Mush's apartment, raising his hands for silence. "All right," he said loudly. "I know there's a lot of us here, so let's do this." David watched as the sea of students spread out across all the furniture and the floor, leaning against the kitchen doorway and the walls, quieted and turned to look at Jack.

Jack looked down at him. "You good to take notes, Davey?"

David held up his pad of paper and a pen. "Yup."

"We know why we're here," Jack said. "This is our school. We're the ones who make it, really shape it, and the big shots think they can make changes, big changes that'll affect us, and we'll just go along with it because we're just kids to them – an unorganized bunch of kids with no brains. All they care is that we – or our moms and dads – keep dropping those big tuition checks in their laps every semester." He took a deep breath. "Well, we're here to say we're not going to stand for it. We're not just going to take what they give us." He looked around the room. "So, what are we going to do?"

The room was very quiet, and David bit his lip. What if he and his friends were the only ones who really cared about this? They wouldn't have much power if there was only twelve or fifteen of them making a fuss.

But then someone from the back of the room said, "How about a sit-in?" in an uncertain voice, and then someone else piped up with, "Or a walk-out."

"Protests!"

"Signs!"

"The media!"

A half hour later, David was furiously scribbling and crossing out in his notebook as Jack called out to various people around the room.

"All right, we should get signs up as soon as we can. Computer-generated and bigger ones, too. Who wants to work on signs?" He glanced around the room as hands popped up. "Great. Sarah 

– can you take care of that?" She nodded. "So other than signs, the first thing we'll try is a sit-in, then?" There were murmurs of agreement from around the room. "Okay, today's Saturday. Should we say Tuesday for the sit-in?"

David looked up at him. "Maybe Thursday, Jack. Give us a few days to get the word out."

Jack glanced down at him and nodded. "Right. Thursday, then. All day in the president's office – from the time it opens until it closes. Show up when you can, leave for class and come back, but talk it up to people. Let's get that whole floor filled."

"Hey," called a voice from the back. "Maybe we should make it like a silent sit-in, to make a point. Like we're not being given any voice?"

Jack was nodding. "That's good. I like it. What's your name, man?"

"Jeff."

"Can you handle being in charge of getting the word out about the sit-in, Jeff?"

David raised an eyebrow at Jack's blunt delegation tactics, but the other guy shrugged. "Sure."

"Cool. Anyone who can help with that, see Jeff afterwards."

"Hey, Jack," called Blink from the kitchen doorway.

"Yeah?"

"What about the profs? We made contacts with a lot of them last semester when those people didn't get tenure. Maybe we should tap them."

"Good," Jack said. "That's good. You, and Mush, and Del are in charge of that, okay?"

To David's amusement, Blink's face turned a purplish shade, but Jack had already moved on. "We should talk to the press right away, too. Who can do that?"

"Maybe you should, Jack," David offered. "I mean, you're kind of the leader."

Jack looked down at him. "No. I – uh, no press for me. Can you handle it, Davey? You know how the media works."

David sighed. There went the few precious hours of sleep he was squeaking by on now. "Yeah, Jack. I'll get some people to help me – campus and local press."

Jack grinned at him, and he warmed and smiled back in spite of himself. "Great." David turned to a new page in the notebook and wrote CALL MONICA in big letters. Then he circled it for good measure.

Voices around the room were increasing as smaller conversations broke out, but when Jack waved his arms, the room quieted again – mostly. "Hey, just to recap, then – signs and media right away. See Sarah and David to help with those. The sit-in will be next Thursday, all day – see Jeff to help with that. See Blink, Mush, and Del to help with talking to the professors. Depending on how the sit-in goes, we'll plan on a protest or two the week after, and then the walk-out will be the next step the week after. And we'll meet here again next week Thursday to discuss how things went. Thanks everyone!"

Jack had to raise his voice a little at the end to be heard, but overall, it had been a good meeting, David concluded. It was hard enough to get 50 or 60 college students to focus on anything for forty-five minutes.

Jack was stepping down from his chair. "That went well," he said.

"Yeah," David said. "I mean, at least we have a plan. That's good, right?"

"You bet, Davey," Jack said, grinning at him. "We've got a plan now."

David grinned back, but he couldn't fight the tension slowly seeping into his body.

Two hours later, most of the extraneous people had cleared out of Blink and Mush's apartment, but the tension was still there. David was huddled together with Sarah and Del and Racetrack on the couch, while Jack and most of the rest of their friends did some "planning" that sounded suspiciously like celebrating in the kitchen.

"Davey!" Jack called from across the room. "We have a plan! It's going to work – I can feel it." From somewhere near the kitchen doorway, Blink whooped. David sighed, and turned back to his sister, Del, and Race.

"This isn't a game, you know," he said lowly. "There could be consequences. Real consequences."

Race nodded, and Sarah's face was troubled. He could see the nervousness he felt echoed in their eyes; even Del's face was tight.

"I don't think they get that," Sarah murmured.

"Maybe they do," Race said. He smiled as Sean came up and handed him a beer. "Maybe they don't care."

David narrowed his eyes. "Why wouldn't they care?"

"Idealism?" Race shrugged.

"Or they feel like they have nothing to lose," Sean said.

David stared at Sean. "Nothing to lose? What about all the money they've poured into this school? Their credits towards a degree? Not to mention their possible future careers."

Del shrugged. "I lean more toward the idealism. I think they think they're invincible right now. We'll see how they feel after the first protest. Or after the first time someone threatens them."

Sean nodded. "That's when people will either stick it or clear out," he said. "That's when we'll know if they've got what it takes."

"So we're doing this, then," David said. He glanced at his friends. "And damn the consequences?"

Slowly, Race and Del nodded, then Sean. Finally, Sarah took a deep breath. "Yeah," she said. "We're all in. No one can make us give our rights away."

David sighed and rose. "All right. I should get our illustrious leader home, then." He glanced around the apartment, frowning. "Where are they?"

He could see Mush and Dutchy sprawled near the TV, flipping through Mush's DVD collection while Gabby and Bumlets looked on and offered occasional commentary. But the others – he didn't see them, even when he crossed the room and peered into the kitchen from the doorway.

It was then that he heard a giggle from behind the kitchen island. He peered over it to see Jack, Specs, and Blink sprawled out on the floor, a mostly empty bottle of tequila and several shot glasses between them. Jack blinked at him, then smiled blearily. "DAV-eeeeeeee!" he said. "Wanna drink?"

"Oh, God almighty." David closed his eyes briefly, and for an instant, felt like crying. Then he opened them and called for Mush and Dutchy.

"Holy shit," Mush said when he saw the trio, but he looked like he was trying not to laugh.

Dutchy just shrugged. "Looks like I'm not getting any tonight."

Mush bent over Blink, nudging him until he sat up enough to loop his arms around Mush's shoulders. Dutchy followed suit with Specs, and soon David was helping a stumbling Jack down the stairs and into Race's car.

Jack didn't pass out on the brief ride back to their dorm, and he was still conscious when Race and Sean helped David deposit him on his bed and said goodnight. "Déjà vu," he heard Race whisper to Sean on their way out, and David blew out an exasperated breath and clenched his jaw.

"You're mad at me," Jack said from his ungraceful sprawl across the bottom bunk.

David bent down and began working on Jack's shoelaces. "No."

"You are!" Jack insisted.

"No, I'm not," David said tightly. He pried one sneaker off.

"Why're you mad at me, Davey?" Jack asked.

Suddenly unable to control the temper flaring inside him, David threw the shoe in his hand at the wall near Jack's head. "Because you always do this, you asshole!" he shouted.

Jack's eyes widened so far it would have been funny – if David wasn't so intensely pissed off.

"You get so fucking drunk," David said, "And you act like an idiot and do stuff and say stuff you shouldn't, and then I have to take care of you and clean up after you and keep you from ending up passed out in a gutter somewhere. And I'm sick of it. Fucking sick of it."

"But," Jack said, "that's what you do. Isn't it?"

David groaned. "What? Clean up your puke and be your DD?"

"Take care of me," Jack mumbled.

"Oh, Jack." David sat down on the bed next to Jack and sighed when Jack's arm settled on his shoulder.

"You're mad at me," Jack said in a small voice. "Do you hate me?"

"No," David said. "I don't hate you."

"But you swore!"

David could stop the chuckle that bubbled up at that – that swearing was like Jack's litmus test for how pissed off he was. "It's all right, Jack," he said. "I still don't hate you. And I won't swear anymore. You just – you know, we'll just talk about this later, okay?"

Jack sat back a little and looked at him intently, if more than a bit blearily. "Okay. Good." He nodded.

They sat in silence for a few minutes until David stirred. "C'mon, let's get you in bed. You're going to feel like hell in the morning. Again."

But Jack was having a hard time sitting up straight. "Davey, Davey, Davey," he slurred, leaning against David's side.

"C'mon, Jack," David said again. He tried to get Jack off of him and laying down on the bed, but instead, Jack slid in closer, with the bonelessness of the very drunk. Their faces were very close together.

"Davey," Jack murmured again.

He leaned in, nearer and nearer, and for a brief, flashing instant, David felt that glorious comprehension of the moment when everything clicks and you suddenly realize, "Oh, this person is going to _kiss_ me, yes, oh, thank you God!" Then Jack's mouth was on his, and yeah, it tasted like tequila and was a little too eager and David was fully aware that Jack was _not _fully aware of what he was doing. But he couldn't help it. For a few seconds, he kissed back.


End file.
